II. Crystal City

From a distance, Crystal City would appear (to anyone) to be little more than a glorious apparition; perhaps some lonely vision of the proverbial Heaven, wandering into the mind without being summoned. For it is just as its namesake would suggest: a city of crystals.

Spires catch the light at odd angles and cast rainbows of vibrant color across the blue sky; a single great crystal bridge stretches across the Seal River, which flows too swiftly for even a river dolphin to navigate through safely. The city itself seems to float on a sea of pearly white sails, as ships sailing south from Avainmesisvyre find safer passage through the Seal River, rather than braving the serpent infested waters of the Fool’s Passage.

From where I sat beside the window, the midday sun spilling down atop our lonely little carriage, all that was visible to me was a single glistening diamond that promised me the world and Stell above knew what else. Despite myself, I smiled broadly and leaned out the window.

Our strip of crudely paved road ran perilously close to the Seal River, and a sharp winter breeze brought the pungent scent of salty water to my nose. I inhaled deeply and watched in awe as a ship made its slow passage down river, towards Kalaven City. Sailors manned the decks, scrambled across the rigging like squirrels, and shouted to one another in loud, jovial tones. Some of their words were foreign to me, their accents as unfamiliar as the odd flag that flew from the mast.

The closer we came to Crystal City, the more traffic joined us on the strip of road, which soon spread in width to allow another carriage to trot towards us, then past us; another lone horseman brandishing the insignia of the King galloped ahead of us, kicking up gravel and dust in his wake.

Aunt Jill was jostled awake as the carriage trod across a dip in the road; with a colorful curse that made Rose blush scarlet, the rest of the carriage soon awoke as well. Michael resumed his brooding silence, which made me frown in worry, for this was uncharacteristic of his normal behavior.

Loran seemed to sense my worry. She offered Michael one of her gentlest smiles and reached across to cover his hands with her own. "Cheer up, Michael," she told him lovingly. "We’re almost home."

"We have no home," he answered tensely in response and shot me a look that I did not understand. I felt guilt rise up in me like a storm; had I done something to anger him? I could not recall doing anything particularly offensive recently, other than refusing to fetch the constable when the triplets passed away. I sank back into my chair awkwardly and listened to the sounds of the nearing city outside our window.

A substantially sized gate led into the city, built of bleached white bricks and manned by armed guards; they hefted bows across their shoulders and walked with a swagger to their steps to accent the swords at their hips. In Kalaven City, I’d seen the constable and his men strutting about the streets, wielding their little wooden truncheons as if they were seasoned warriors. And they were certainly formidable weapons in a bar brawl, of which I had witnessed many. However, the polished black scabbards of those swords sheathed a weapon far more perilous than a mere truncheon. I wondered who lived in this city who was so important that the Royal Guard would have to carry so many weapons.

I turned to Aunt Jill. "Why are the king’s guards here?" I asked.

She snorted disdainfully at my lack of education and exchanged a look of condescending patience with Rose before answering me. "They’re not the king’s guards, Rocielle," she said prudently. She gestured to the black wolf embroidered on the left breast of one of the guard’s blue tunics. "These are the family militia of the Stein family."

"Who?" I asked dumbly.

"The Stein family," she repeated a bit too loudly, as if increasing the volume of her voice would help me to understand her words any better; it did not. Nevertheless, on she charged. "Honestly, did Evelyn teach you ruffians nothing of the nobility of your own country?"

"No ma’am," I answered meekly.

She fluttered a hand at me. "Be quiet," she said impatiently. "I’m not through talking yet. The Steins are another distinguished family in Crystal City, perhaps the only family equal in status to the du Monte family. These guards—" And here she gestured broadly to the soldiers dressed in velvety blue, the snarling black wolf visible in all manners on both their clothing and their weapons and other finery, "—are at their personal disposal."

"Oh," I answered, and it was possibly the stupidest thing I could have said. I gazed out the window at one of the guards, fascinated; he sat atop a great brown war horse. Its mane had been cut short and then tied close against its neck, its tail bound as well. Great tufts of white hair spilled across its large shod hooves, its round black eyes watching the hounds that accompanied some of the other guards, askance. Atop the guard’s head was a black fedora, which looked particularly out of place on the head of a man who was verily a soldier.

He noted my stare and returned it impetuously, curling his top lip back from his teeth in a sneer.

Aunt Jill popped my hand sharply, and I cried out as I looked at her in shock. "Don’t do that, boy!" she chastised me. "Do you want trouble to come to your very doorstep?"

"I’m sorry!" I apologized quickly, for I knew nothing else to say. I had no idea what she meant by trouble, but if looking at that guard would summon it, I would immediately stop.

Aunt Jill settled back into her seat with a scowl, but nodded in approval as I moved away from the window to sit beside Michael. "You had better be. That, young man, is Rowan Stein, captain of the Stein Militia and brother to Otto Stein, head of the family estate. I would suggest to you that you steer clear of him. He’s nothing like the rest of his family."

"What do you mean?" Michael asked suddenly. He leaned out the window to discreetly look at the man atop of great war horse. Rowan had turned in his saddle to watch after us, dark eyes smoldering like coals.

"He was first in line to inherit his family’s fortune," Aunt Jill said, disdain dripping from her words. "An… accident, changed all of that. Viktor Stein completely wrote Rowan out of his will and left everything to Otto and the youngest brother, August. Both of them invested the money well and rose to prominence, keeping Rowan in the picture out of sympathy and because they felt obligated to see to his needs. When August married a wealthy, if not quite so notable family in Haven and moved to join her, Otto allowed Rowan the position of captain of the family’s militia. Thus far, August has complained very little about the arrangement and no mishaps such as what had happened before Viktor’s death have occurred. Otto seems content to leave Rowan right where he is." Under her breath, she muttered, "Against the better judgment of his wife, however."

"Who’s his wife?" I asked curiously.

Aunt Jill regarded me with prudent shock and scowled. "Impetuous little twit, aren’t you?" she snapped in chagrin again, and I lowered my eyes. However, I listened as she spoke. "Helena is a wise woman," she said solemnly. "Otto chose right when he decided to marry a sophisticated woman, not a comely one. Her family is not particularly wealthy, and she did not come to him with any dowry of her own. In fact, her inheritance was practically nothing; a single gold locket and a china set, the latter of which she pawned off to help pay for young Ulrich’s primary education, I believe."

The cabin fell silent as the cabby continued to drive us through the narrow streets of Crystal City; shops were brightly illuminated by kerosene lanterns hung inside the shops. Beautiful verandas were decorated by flowing white ivy, and I could see couples perched on them overlooking the carriages below, sharing a kiss or two occasionally. Rose followed my gaze to one such veranda and sighed wistfully.

"I would have liked to have a veranda myself," she told me in a tone that would have been confidential. "But they are quite expensive to construct, as I’m sure you can imagine."

I could not, but I nodded my head anyway.

That comment stirred up a quarrel between Aunt Jill and Rose very quickly; evidently, the subject matter had been discussed many times with the entire du Monte family, and the decision had been unanimous never to discuss it again. After many harsh words were exchanged, a tense silence fell over the cabin, and I did not feel tempted to ask anymore questions in regards to Crystal City. I was positive I would learn it all in time.

It became increasingly evident to me when we were no longer in the part of the city controlled by the Stein family. Shops did not fly little blue banners depicting a snarling black wolf. Instead, I spotted a maroon banner flown from the side of a book shop, a snoozing white lioness visible with one green eye cracked open observantly. I didn’t have to be told whose insignia it was party to; I already knew.

Aunt Jill wore that exact same insignia in the form of a pin on her dress. The lioness represented the du Monte family.

The guards were dressed in crimson, and fewer of them rode horses than the Stein guards did. I picked out the captain of the du Monte militia just as easily as I before. He was astride a black war horse of similar build, but his entire demeanor was that of a benevolent, yet watchful father. His features were slightly shaggy and sanguine, his gentle brown eyes welcoming, yet there was a commanding air about him that demanded both respect and courtesy. Sitting in front of him on the saddle was a little boy with a head of matching shaggy brown hair and a set of blue eyes that contrasted with his father’s dark brown.

I could feel the tension in the air lessen as Aunt Jill warmly said, "That is Otis, Rocielle. My brother and your uncle."

"That’s Otis?" Michael exclaimed suddenly and leaned out the window, his eyes as wide as my own. "And… is that—"

"Jacob?" our aunt finished with a smile. "Yes. That’s your little cousin."

"He looks just like Otis," Michael stated in awe.

"Yes," Aunt Jill agreed easily; the entire cabin watched my uncle and the small boy he carried. "But he has his mother’s eyes and gentle demeanor."

"Otis’ love of horses, though," Michael pointed out. "I bet he’s going to join the guard when he gets old enough."

"He’s already aching to wield a sword," Rose commented with a fond smile. She twirled a curl of her hair around one slender finger. "He’s too little, though. Last time he tried to pick up Uncle Otis’ sword, he cut his hand and cried—not because he had cut his hand, but because he wouldn’t be able to practice with his little sword until the injury healed. He’s already a soldier. Just too small to fit into any of the uniforms."

"Jean is proud," Aunt Jill said quietly, "As are all of us. We hope to one day see one of our boys in the Royal Guard protecting the king."

It took well over an hour for the carriage to ride throughout all of Crystal City. It was not as large as Kalaven City, and with fewer boroughs to navigate through, but nevertheless the city was massive in its intricate roads and snaking alleyways that slithered in and out of the larger buildings. Up close, the beauty of Crystal City was not so mesmerizing. The homeless slept against the dusty marble bases of the fanciful buildings; a suspicious individual with sunken in eyes led a troupe of ruffians into a darkened corridor to do dealings that I was unfamiliar with. The walls of apartments were not sound proof; I could hear the arguments of men and women and children, as well as the laughter.

Crystal City was, indeed, a city of many façades.

I would be given ample opportunity to explore every nook and cranny and crevice and tavern (which were not called taverns, but "clubs"). Aunt Jill and Lord du Monte did not keep me closeted away within their estate, although I would not have complained in the least if they had. My curfew was strict, however. In by the time the city workers went around extinguishing the street lamps. I could not leave again before breakfast. I was forced to watch the company I kept, which excluded many of the hoodlums I was accustomed to playing with in the streets. I must never stray into the portion of town controlled by the Stein family.

Let me clarify one point: the du Monte family and the Stein family were not feuding, by any means. In fact, relations between the two were very warm and cordial and comfortable. When the Steins visited the du Monte household, I was given the opportunity to socialize with many of the Stein children. However, certain arrangements had been made many generations back to prevent a feud from ever breaking out.

The borders of the city were firmly drawn. The du Monte clan had the north and eastern portion of Crystal City to themselves, where the du Monte militia would patrol and keep the peace. The south and western quarters of the city belonged to the Steins, who would see to it that order was upheld there. This arrangement had been made for reasons other than just to prevent possible power struggles. Each family’s militia was quite exclusive and difficult to gain membership of; to patrol an entire city with so small a force would have been ludicrous. To solve the problem (and to make sure that none of the lesser noble families attempted to rise up and snatch power away from either the Steins or the du Monte’s), they divided the city in half, which cut the amount of patrolling that each militia was required to do in half.

When gatherings were held at the du Monte estate, I often heard little half-murmurs of distaste at the current situation. A lesser family, the Rivamonte’s (no relation to the du Monte’s), once attempted an uprising with the Gustofsans. The attempt was quickly squelched and the families were invited back into the nobility’s inner circle, although they were prudently snubbed by the Steins and du Monte’s for their outrageous behavior.

I found myself regarding the pompous snobbery of the court with disdain as each winter passed me by and I became an established member of the du Monte family. Upon our arrival, Lord Mortimer du Monte’s attorney had finalized the adoption papers that would make Loran, Michael and me official members of the family. Rose had undergone this procedure upon her arrival months before, and regarded the three of us with sympathy as the process dragged itself out. I fell asleep a number of times in Loran’s arms, and had to be jostled awake to scribble what few letters I knew of my name down onto yellowed parchment. Michael’s letters were not elegant, but were defined and legible. Loran’s hand was little better than mine, and contained unnecessary flourishes that actually made her name more difficult to read than mine was. Regardless, the attorney filed the parchment away in Mortimer’s study, and it was official.

My new name was Rocielle Black du Monte.

I saw little of Mortimer, my tall and severe uncle. Upon my arrival, I glimpsed his gaunt form at a dusty window on the second floor of the large manor. The edifice itself looked to have been built hundreds of years ago; the bricks had a charming, weathered look to them, and ivy crawling up the exterior walls had established itself as a permanent resident ages ago. I noticed a veranda that ran around the entire building and wondered what Rose had meant about wanting a veranda for herself.

A manservant rushed out to collect our meager belongings from the cabby, who offered the reins of his horse to a stable boy, who in turn scurried away in the direction of a quaint little stable a little further down the drive. I turned around and gazed down the road we had just come up; the du Monte estate overlooked all of Crystal City, perched on a hill like a lady might perch herself in a fancy chair.

Aunt Jill was striding swiftly across the cobblestone in the direction of the front doors, which were large, cherry wood structures that swung open before she’d even set a toe to the steps. Two servants held them wide open for her, bowing at the waist. She did not glance at them, but barked at us sharply over her shoulder to pick up our feet, she expected us clean and dressed by dinner. I hurried after her, Michael and Loran but paces behind me.

The inside of du Monte Manor reminded me of what I’d seen of the Trinity Quarter Court House, except to a greater and more personal extent. The walls were covered in elaborate portraits of past family heirs, and one in particular resided over the grand staircase ascending to the upper levels of the mansion. It was of a grave-faced woman with steely silver hair and optical lenses placed on the ridge of her narrow nose. She looked as if she had tasted something sour while the artist painted her portrait; not at all the congenial sort. Underneath her painting on a golden name plate was the name, "Madeleine du Monte," followed by the date. I quickly came to the conclusion that she was the founder of this family, the one who had helped spur it into greatness.

We settled in relatively nicely once our initial introductions to all of our cousins had been taken care of. Aunt Jill herself had three children of her own; two boys and a girl. The boys were twins, named Luke and Cain. Her daughter’s name was Gwendolyn. Otis, Aunt Jill’s brother, had two children of his own; a boy and a girl separated by two years. The older of the two was my cousin Jacob, whom I had glimpsed sitting with his father on top of the large brown war horse. The girl was barely older than an infant and was never far from her mother’s side; her name was Katherine, the same as her mother. The child responded to an assortment of nick names. I became fond of calling her "Kathy."

But Katherine Black responded only to Miss Katherine, and would sternly upbraid any uppity children who tried to treat her with anything that she viewed as disrespect. She looked to be a little younger than Aunt Jill, with thick brown hair and azure eyes that made my blood curdle to look at for too long. Miss Katherine was not a cruel woman by any means. She was always very kind to me and loving, but she demanded respect in return for that kindness. I gave it to her freely.

Luke and Cain were older than Michael by three years at fifteen years each, but as he was the oldest boy of the "new children" at the manor, they immediately accepted him into their ranks. In the morning after breakfast, Michael left with them and their posse of other noble children from neighboring houses to go rabbit hunting on the vast, rolling grassland beside the Seal River. Gwen was older than her brothers, and spent more of her time with my sisters than she did with me. That left me with Jacob, the little three-year-old who could barely speak his own name.