Chess is a short story set in the world of The Glass Sonata, one of my old fantasy manuscripts. I wrote this back in sophomore year of college. It sucks majorly, but it sucks less than other short stories I've written that shall never see the light of day. So I thought I'd upload it here for you all to laugh at. :D
Chess
Aandril Kamion was the eldest daughter of the Kamion House.
She had one deceased brother and two living sisters, of no consequence. Nephina was several years younger, a withdrawn and timid girl who stood no chance in challenging her older sister for the title of Firstborn. Aandril knew this because, when Nephina first went to have traditional jewels embedded into her feet like all the other elites, she fell victim to an accident that left her with tattered flesh from toes to ankles. Nephina limped everywhere now, a crooked rook on the chessboard. No challenge at all.
The second sister was barely four years old, little Feradis, the child that did not speak. Aandril didn’t think much of her either, because she was so young, but she did not have tattered feet and she was too small to get the implanted gems. She had no deformities. She loved everyone, especially Aandril, and kissed her often. Aandril kept her eyes on Feradis for good measure, watching how her mother and father doted on the child—but she didn’t worry much. Feradis could not speak. Surely that was a good enough reason not to name her the Firstborn of House Kamion, a potential heir to the throne.
Besides. Aandril Kamion was beautiful, breathtakingly so. She thought that must be a good thing.
Every morning Aandril woke up with the dawn and spent an hour preparing herself so that she would look stunning for her mother to see. She let the slaves comb her hair until it fell straight and shining down to the middle of her back, dotted with jewels and gems and trails of tiny lilac flowers, hair that could not be called anything but white. A slave dabbed translucent powder across the lids of her eyes so they would gleam in the light. Long white lashes framed blue ice eyes. Chains of jewels hung like reflective lanterns from her ears. Three circles of bracelets. Silver ringlets snug against her neck. Cool green silks.
Aandril never left her chamber unless she smiled at her mirror. To vie for the position of Firstborn of her family, she could not afford to look less than divine. She knew this because little Feradis, the one who could not speak, was still effortlessly beautiful in her childlike way. Windblown, strawberry gold curls, the sweet darkness of sapphire eyes, the little rose mouth. And that, as far as Aandril was concerned, was enough reason for her to work hard on her own appearance.
Aandril’s father, Senator Baruse Kamion, did not care which of his daughters became one of the Firstborn candidates to the throne. His opinion was male and did not matter in the royal court—-only in the Senate chamber. The king on the chessboard moved little, after all.
Aandril’s mother, Senator Ferdaea Kamion, had an opinion that mattered very much indeed.
Something different happened every now and then. Today was a good example. After Aandril left her bedchambers in the morning, she walked down to the water gardens in the palace courtyards and prayed to the Goddess to bring her good fortune. Then she made her way to the temples and joined the other elites, and then together they waited in silence as another Firstborn would be announced.
Aandril kneeled patiently with the rest, legs folded neatly beneath her green silks, hair behind her shoulders, and fixed her attention on the priest who stood in the center of the temple’s room. Feradis kneeled beside her. Which House would announce their Firstborn today? Aandril always looked forward to this mystery.
“Today,” he said. He spread his arms so that his sleeves hung long to either side. “Today, join me as we congratulate the House of Sherisa, for they have decided at long last upon their Firstborn. The Firstborn of Sherisa shall join those who are allowed to contend for the Empress’s throne.” A chorus of murmurs answered him. Aandril watched the ceremony with delicious excitement. Aandril already pictured how her own would happen, knew exactly what she would say and how to say it.
“The Firstborn of House Sherisa. Liena Sherisa, second daughter of Senator Sherisa.”
In the silence, Aandril saw a tall young lady stride forward to bow to the priest, then dip bare feet into the temple’s water ring. She had known Liena from infancy. “I thank you, sir,” Liena now said, “and my House for this honor. I will carry my family’s name to contend for the throne.” Another chorus of murmurs, congratulations, echoed from the other elites. Liena stepped away to rejoin her House.
Aandril let out a quiet breath in the silence that followed. She would be the one to dip her feet in holy water someday. She would be the one to look back toward her family, to look at her mother and father and sisters, and smile and bow her head. The Firstborn of House Kamion. Aandril Kamion, first daughter of Senator Kamion. She heard the words ring in her mind.
Yes. That was exactly how it would go.
Feradis rose then, turned to lean her tiny arms against Aandril’s shoulder, lifted herself onto the tips of her toes, and kissed her.
Mother approached them after the ceremony. “Aandril,” she said, not bothering to look her in the eyes. Instead, she leaned down and picked Feradis up into her arms. “Come with me. I have something I need you to do.”
Aandril lowered her head. “Of course, Mother.” She followed her out of the temple and into the water gardens. She was careful not to look at Feradis and her sweet little face.
Once there, her mother finally turned toward her. “This new Firstborn. Liena Sherisa.”
“Yes, Mother.”
“I am concerned about her appointment. She is a favorite of the Empress already, and I fear she may very well be the Firstborn who wins the crown.”
Aandril nodded in automatic agreement. Well, her mother did speak the truth. Liena—-and her House-—had long been a favorite for the throne. Her appointment today came as no surprise to anyone. “What are you going to do?” she asked.
Her mother moved so that she could speak more quietly, causing Feradis to squirm. Her breath touched Aandril’s skin in a flurry of warmth. “The Empress holds her birthday banquet in three nights. I have a mission for you, daughter, and if you succeed, you will have pleased me very much.”
Aandril stayed silent as her mother handed her something small, glass-like, wrapped in cloth. “Use this when you find an opportunity that night. You will know what to do.”
“Yes, Mother.” When she unwrapped the cloth to take a peek, her eyes widened. So, her mother meant to kill Liena in three nights. She allowed herself a smile before hiding the object in her silks. Mother is such an intelligent woman. Aandril’s heart ached to please her. “I will do as you have asked.”
“You are a good daughter,” her mother replied, smiling as well. She patted Aandril lightly on the cheek, then began to turn away. “I will leave you now.” She clucked her tongue at Feradis, then, and smoothed the child’s long curls with one hand. “My little dear,” she said, and Aandril could hear the tone change. “I need to brush your hair again.” Feradis said nothing, of course, but she wrapped her arms around her mother’s neck all the same. They disappeared back inside the palace.
Aandril’s mind clouded momentarily. Feradis. Mother was always looking for Feradis, wanting to comb her curls, wash her face, kiss her cheeks. “She’s just a child,” Aandril reminded herself aloud. “And I am not.” She felt the covered object in her silks for reassurance, and her mood lightened again. Let Feradis enjoy being pampered for now. Once this assassination finished, Aandril would surely be her House’s Firstborn.
So the nights passed. Aandril sat in her room often and looked at the thing which her mother had given her. It was a tiny glass bottle, wrapped in cloth, meant to be kept warm. She held it up to the light once, to study it closer. At first glance, it looked like it was filled with nothing but water-—until she looked very, very closely. And there, at the bottom of the bottle, sat a little pearl that could be nothing at all.
Aandril would then shake the bottle lightly, so that the pearl would hit the sides of the glass. The pearl would transform in an instant, shifting from its round shape to a writhing, dozen-legged monster barely a centimeter long. She could see the parasite’s needle-like claws raking against the glass, and the way it swam through the water in a jagged, furious motion. The sight made even the hairs on her neck rise.
When the night of the banquet came, Aandril made sure to arrive on time to mingle with the other guests. The banquet hall looked like a sea of shifting robes and silks, colors everywhere and in all directions, rising and fading as they moved amongst the chamber’s candle-like glow. Glass bowl lanterns hung in rows upon every wall and archway. Aandril ignored the scents of delicious foods, the ambient chatter of high-ranking merchants and aristocrats, the scattered laughter.
She held two glasses of wine in her hands. One of them was pure, a light snow wine, cool and wintry. She had poured this glass for herself. The other glass held something darker, crimson red wine, the color hiding the parasite that Aandril had put in it moments earlier. This, of course, was reserved for the new Firstborn of House Sherisa.
Mother will be so pleased. Far across the room, Aandril could see her mother speaking with the Empress, Feradis still in her arms. The sight did not bother her this time. Aandril tightened her grip on the two glasses, smiled her aristocratic guest smile, and continued to walk. She needed to find Liena.
“Mistress Kamion!”
Aandril turned at the voice. There was Liena, all smiles and rosy skin, her hair piled high upon her head in a cascade of dark curls. She stopped for a moment to bow her head at Aandril. “You look lovely tonight, Mistress.”
Aandril bowed her head in return. “As do you, Firstborn Sherisa. Your new title fits you well.”
Liena laughed. “Thank you.” She glanced quickly toward Aandril’s hands, and her eyes lit up with pleasure at the sight of the wine she carried. “Why, Mistress,” she said. “Is that a glass of Rose?” She nodded toward the dark red liquid.
Your favorite, of course. Aandril smiled at her eagerness, but made sure to hesitate for a moment. “This glass is for my mother, I’m afraid!” she exclaimed. “But the Empress is serving Rose tonight, yes. A rare wine, indeed.”
“It looks delightful.”
Aandril waited for a moment longer, until Liena looked ready to move on and greet another guest. Then she stepped forward, bowed her head again at Liena, and lifted the hand holding the red wine. “You have just been named the Firstborn of your House,” Aandril said. “Let this wine be my congratulations to you, my old friend. I will fetch another one for my mother.”
Liena smiled at her, bowed, and took the wine. “You are kind, Mistress,” she said. “Give your mother my thanks as well.”
Aandril exchanged a few more words with her, and then moved on through the crowd. The pawn takes the knight. Across the room, she could see her mother leaving the banquet hall with Feradis in her arms, the child’s figure limp with sleep. Aandril wondered what praise her mother would give her for doing as she had asked, and what her expression might look like. The thought made her heart pound faster. Someday soon, she knew her name would be called out by the priest in the temples, and then she would become one of them, the Firstborns, and she would be the one to win the throne. She would win it because she was the best—-she could please her mother with her wit and intelligence and beauty, and she could because she was not afraid of anything.
Liena died the next day.
The healers claimed it was night fever. Aandril kept quiet.
Several weeks passed, and the commotion that came with Liena’s death eventually settled down as well. During this time Aandril saw little of her mother, and exchanged a few words with her, but her mother never mentioned Liena or the banquet night and pretended as if nothing had happened. Aandril did not worry about this because she knew her mother’s ways. She did not even feel dislike toward Feradis anymore, even when she saw her mother lift her in the air and talk to her, decorating her curls with little diamond ringlets. The child could not speak. Aandril would surely be the Firstborn of House Kamion.
On the first day of the fourth week, the elites gathered once again in the temples. Aandril arrived somewhat late, for she spent extra time in front of the mirror that morning and she certainly was not going to show up looking less than splendid. She hurried to the temples in breathless euphoria, hardly noticing her surroundings as they flew past her vision.
Today would be the day.
The priest was already standing in the temple’s center when Aandril arrived, eyes shining, to find her place with her House. She kneeled, trembling, unable to steady her hands from excitement. Beside her, Feradis sat quietly with her tiny hands folded into her lap, her own childlike interpretation of looking serious. Aandril almost wanted to smile at her. It seemed cute to her now, somehow.
“Today,” she heard the priest say as he spread his arms wide. “Today, join me as we congratulate the House of Kamion, for they have decided upon their Firstborn. The Firstborn of Kamion shall join those who are allowed to contend for the Empress’s throne.”
Aandril’s heart leapt into her throat at the words, and she forgot to join in the chorus of murmurs that followed. She glanced quickly toward her mother, who sat along her other side, and wanted to laugh aloud when she saw her mother smile at her.
“The Firstborn of House Kamion. Feradis Kamion, third daughter of Senator Kamion.”
Silence.
Aandril could only look on. Feradis, the child who could not speak, rose from her position and made her way to stand before the priest. Her small feet dipped into the holy water between them. She did not say the traditional reply, but she bowed low to the priest, and then once again to the assembly. Aandril could not turn her eyes away from the child. What had once seemed to be her sweet sapphire eyes now looked like cold blue stones, fireless and cruel. Aandril could not even hear the elites as they acknowledged her younger sister’s new title. All she could realize, rather abruptly, was that tears ran down her cheeks.
She turned to look at her mother. “Mother,” Aandril said. “Why did you choose Feradis, your youngest, to be the Firstborn of House Kamion?”
Her mother returned her look with a smile. It looked exactly like every other smile, and today it frightened Aandril. “Because, my daughter,” she replied. “You murdered Firstborn Sherisa.”
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