“Are you Francesca Verdant? The Conde Ansio’s serving girl?”
Frankie set down her bucket on the edge of the trough and began pouring the water out for the horses. “One of them, yes. There must be a dozen of us here, signore, any reason you need me in particular?”
“You were the next one on the list.” The man held a sheaf of papers out for her inspection, which did her little good as she hadn’t ever learned her letters. “You’ve been with the Conde for a long time?”
“Not quite a year,” she said, hefting up the bucket and heading for the well again. “What’s this list about? I don’t know anything about the Conde’s business, I just do what the valet tells me to, if you need to worm your way into his lordship’s good graces you’re talking to the wrong person.”
He made a derisive noise and shuffled the stack of papers. “It says you were put under contract because your family couldn’t pay their taxes. Is that true?”
Frankie slammed her bucket down on the rim of the well and glared at the stranger. Her ire was mostly wasted on him, as he kept his nose buried in his papers and didn’t acknowledge her attention at all. He wore a broadbrimmed leather hat with a pair of ostrich feathers in it and, with his face pointed downwards, it was almost impossible to see his face. His long, rust red tunic and brown breeches were unremarkable. There was nothing about him to suggest who he was or why he was asking all these prying questions.
“Signorina, are you aware that the last Prince, Luigi del Torrence, banned indentured servitude as a security against unpaid debts?” The man asked, lifting his face just enough to meet her gaze over the tops of his papers.
“Princes say a lot of things,” she replied, lowering the well’s bucket. “It doesn’t mean much a lot of the time. Doesn’t matter. Our last harvest was bad due to the drought but this year the rains came on time. My brother has the same Gift as me, he’ll keep the fields green and growing so they can pay off the taxmen this year and I’ll be free to go home.”
“What about the rest?”
She paused hand still on the crank of the well. “The rest of what?”
He kept studying her over the top of his papers for another moment then said, “Nevermind. Do you know where I can find Piero Impulse?”
“He was back there, with the horses,” Frankie said, gesturing vaguely back towards the trough.
“Thank you,” the man replied, his attention going back to his papers. “Enjoy the wedding ceremony.”
She watched him go for a moment, wondering what he found so interesting in those papers. Perhaps he had weak eyes.
Whatever it was, she couldn’t let it keep her from her work any longer. In spite of his bizarre suggestion, Frankie did not enjoy the ceremony. The wedding of the Prince of Torrence was not something an indebted serving girl was going to attend, though the Conde’s valet did allow the servants a little time to wander the many pavilions of entertainments and refreshments the Prince had set up in the fields outside Torrence. The experience was, she told herself, something she would never have if she’d stayed in the fields of Ansio.
The food was incredible, seasoned with spices she’d smelled in the port markets back home. She’d often wondered what exotic flavors the merchants brought in from far flung cities in Iram, Hugao and beyond and sold for more money than she would see in her life. After sampling half the dishes available Frankie found herself begrudgingly understanding the appeal. More than once she found herself wondering what her family would think of the revels, pausing in the middle of a lane to ponder it until someone would prod her to be on her way.
Refreshments were not the only entertainment the Prince had provided to help the common folk celebrate his nuptials. There were musicians, jugglers and fire eaters, to name just a few of the performances she watched. At one point she found herself watching a brief scene from Ulysses and the Dragon performed atop a small, raised platform. “The kingdom is a wall between the people and the dangers of the world, Ulysses,” one of the actors proclaimed. The wooden crown on his head suggested he was a king or prince of some kind. Frankie couldn’t remember which one was important in the story. “The Prince is the first watchman atop it. So tell me, are you a trustworthy man, or a villain?”
“More villain than anything, I fear,” the other actor replied. “But a dragon is a cunning creature and the skies are its domain. Walls and watchmen may be suited to most dangers but for this foe you will need something different.”
Frankie snorted and turned away from the stage. If only all villains would proclaim themselves so.
“The full show is tonight,” one of the stagehands told her as she walked past. “I guarantee you’ve never seen the likes of it before!”
“Tonight?” She let out a sharp laugh. “No, I don’t think I’ll have time tonight. You aren’t playing to the Prince’s court itself, you know? Just us servants.”
“Not just yet,” the boy replied. “But maybe someday soon. Perhaps we’ll even play for both.”
Frankie frowned, not sure what to make of that. Whatever he meant by it the stagehand didn’t stay to explain himself, he was carrying some kind of painted backdrop over one shoulder towards a larger stage that was taking shape further back. She studied him for a moment. Tall, wiry and unremarkable with a voice that sounded vaguely familiar. Perhaps they’d encountered each other in the past few days, she told herself, and wrote the encounter off.
In the early afternoon the valet came to find her, hustling her and a half dozen other servants off to the Conde’s pavilion, where they were changed into formal livery and told to carry the Conde’s gifts to the main pavilion. There they stood for almost two hours while the court sat, ate and toasted the Prince’s marriage. It was tedious, boring and by the end of it Frankie’s arms ached from holding the wood and filigree jewelry box she’d been given to carry. However the Conde Ansio finally offered his own congratulations to the happy couple and Frankie had the chance to set her burden down on the long table near the center of the gathering, where the court’s gifts for the Prince were being placed.
Finally, Prince Lucas del Torrence stood up and addressed the pavilion. “My friends, I thank you.” He reached down and took the hand of his wife, a beautiful woman dressed in yellow velvet with violet flowers in her hair. Belladonna de la Torrence stood up beside the prince and smiled radiantly. “My wife thanks you. It is my hope that the harmony in our family will be reflected in my territory for years to come!”
The court offered a raucous cheer, though whether it was from sincere joy at the sentiment or the wine they had drunk was impossible to tell. One Marquis, seated at the far end of the Prince’s table, raised his glass and called, “A proclamation!”
The call was taken up across the pavilion. After a moment the Prince raised a hand and the court fell silent. Grinning, Lucas said, “What would you have me proclaim? Shall I make the flower of the realm my wife’s namesake?”
The crowd gave a muted assent. Many of the women of the court seemed skeptical of the idea.
“Perhaps I should change the patron of the realm to my own, the King of Dreams?”
A heartier cheer came for that idea. Who wouldn’t want the King who came for those who had fulfilled their hopes as patron?
But Lucas shook his head and took up his goblet, swirling the wine within it. “These would be fine proclamations, I think. However, there is a more pressing need before me today. For there is a man to whom I owe a great deal, whose services to me have made this joyous occasion possible, and whose work I must acknowledge today.” The Prince raised his glass and said, “So I, Lucas del Torrence, do solemnly declare the Blacklight of Fionni a hero of the realm! May all his works find favor in the eyes of Eternity!”
To say the court was surprised was an understatement. A few remembered to raise their glasses along with the Prince but most of them were too shocked to move or were suddenly whispering amongst themselves. Frankie wondered if they were trying to figure out who the Blacklight was as well. She seemed to vaguely recall hearing the name somewhere but she wasn’t sure where, or why it had been important.
Then her questions were answered.
The table full of gifts exploded, a cloud of smoke engulfing it and thick, heavy shadows. The nearest guests scrambled up from their seats and backed away, as if the smoke would somehow do them mischief. The guards around the pavilion drew their weapons and started forward, then stopped. The Prince sent them back with a sharp command.
When the smoke cleared it revealed a tall figure, wrapped in a dark, shimmering cloak with a tall, pointed hat atop its head. From beneath the wide brim peered two baleful, glowing points of light like eyes. Between the hat and the high collar of the cloak it was impossible to make out any details of the man’s face and the cloak hid most of his body, with only the heavy leather boots on his feet poking out from below.
He stood on the end of the gifts table and glared at the court, speaking in a brash, commanding voice. “Prince Lucas. Princess Belladonna. My congratulations to you on this happy occasion.”
The Prince set his cup down, leaning to one side as his wife whispered something into his ear. He nodded, then said, “You grace us with your presence, Signore Blacklight.”
“I fear grace is not one of my gifts, Prince Lucas.” The Blacklight spread his hands and turned to encompass the court. “Two months ago I stood under the beacon tower of Citadel Fionni and discovered a great plot to undo this marriage before it took place. Now that it is solemnized, I come to offer my respects. My present to the ruler of Torrence is one word of advice. As you stand on the walls to defend your people, take care, for it is often under your own feet where their suffering begins. The stones you build your kingdom from must be measured and judged, less they slip out of place and crush the innocent beneath them.”
The Blacklight strode across the table full of gifts, his heavy boots thudding with each step yet somehow never landing on anything other than the table itself. With a flourish he produced a stack of papers from somewhere on his person. “Borgomaestro Valentine.” He dropped a few sheets atop Valentine’s present, an embroidered rug from Iram. “Capitain Torianno.” A few more papers on the polished, jeweled shield the condottiere had offered. “Conde Ansio.” The rest of the stack landed on top of the jewelry box Frankie had placed there. “These three stones are loose, oh Prince. Be mindful of them. May your marriage be happy and fruitful.”
Torianno roared out something in indignation and leaped from his seat, his Gift carrying him a dozen feet in the air in a long arc towards the Blacklight, violence clearly on his mind. However the Blacklight was engulfed in another burst of smoke. When the mercenary captain landed in it he upended the table, scattering the gifts like leaves in a storm, but he came up empty handed when the smoke cleared. In fact, the Blacklight was not seen in Torrence again that year.
Neither was Torianno. The Prince had him seized and the papers the Blacklight left behind collected. They proved to be records of the Conde and his collaborator’s conspiracies to trap certain people in debt and servitude. Frankie was astonished to learn the Conde’s valet had kept a record of every meal she had eaten and added the cost of it to her debt. All together it was a sum her family could not have repaid with five years harvests, much less one.
The three men were imprisoned and the Prince forgave all the debtors as part of his wedding proclamation. The Princess took the freed debtors in hand, arranging for their safe passage home. When Frankie arrived back home a month later her family was astonished to hear the rulers of Torrence had intervened on her behalf but she assured them that it was true. Lucas del Torrence did care for the people in the fields of Ansio. However, the one who they owed the most was the one who bothered to tell the Prince of their plight. That man, they called the Blacklight.
