“If you ever feel you do not belong… you belong… to me.”
Those were the words that echoed through his mind. Young Thiji, of House Higuri, was but one of many clans who joined the Kingdom of Blackheart. A simple sentence with simple words, yet its meaning was profound. When the menn and womenn of the land were summoned under the banner of Blackheart, a massive procession was held where the myriad houses of Elyria heeded the call of the shadows. Within Castle Darkholde, the capital of the Grand Duchy of the same name, they gathered.
He remembered that day fondly. He remembered the rain – the pitter-patter of the water falling and breaking upon the black and purple umbrellas, and the shrouded faces of his peers. He remembered witnessing the Queen of Black Hearts – her very presence unblemished by the rain as she gave her speech, completely dry as though nature itself was swayed by this powerful figure. Upon her head was the Crown of Scorn, the resplendent diadem worn by the ruler of Blackheart, and the head of House Darkholm.
And he remembered the sensation when he felt his Queen’s gaze upon him. It was as if an arrow had flown straight and true, finding its mark into Thiji’s very soul. And when everyone around him uttered the credo of Blackheart, he knew that his destiny, and the destiny of his house, were now tied with this land.
But from all that he remembered, his greatest recollection was the ball that followed. Everyone from all over the Kingdom – Drakeolm, Kappaland, Ostengrad, even the mighty Knights of the 13th Order - made an appearance to celebrate the new Blood and enjoy their signature alcoholic beverage for which the Kingdom is well-renowned. They were all jubilant, as if a grand reunion of relatives had taken place after so many years away from loved ones.
Unlike most of the Higuri clan, Thiji was a recluse. He did not speak much, and favored the more nocturnal side of things, isolating himself so as to avoid causing awkwardness. Despite this, however, he was a gentleman. He held ladies in high regard, and in his aristocratic line they would uphold etiquette and good manners. He watched the festivities from an isolated corner of the ballroom for a few brief moments, twirling what appeared to be gems of various colors in his hand…
He snapped back out of his daydream and found himself back in his chambers. Despite his youth, he was a Magistrate of the town known as Moonbliss, which would one day become an elegant hub amidst the County of Bindings. Thiji scanned his surroundings, taking note of all the gems and crystals which decorated his halls. These were the works created by himself and his clan – goldsmiths, jewel-crafters, and lapidaries of the Higuri Regalia all had their place in this vault. It was a sacred place where only members of his family knew the means of which to gain entry. So many secrets could be held within…
Making his way to a decorative alabaster bust of an unnamed womann, he gazed upon his right hand – the same gems he held before were there, glimmering under the light. Lightly clenching them in his hand, he retreated to the confines of his mind, recollecting that day…
Leaving the ballroom to gaze out into the rain, the young Magistrate gathered his thoughts. To be welcomed as part of the Blood – the term used to refer to Blackheart’s citizens – was a great honor indeed. However, he questioned his own worth in all of this. Could Blackheart truly profit from one who shies away from interaction? A recluse who has spent so many loveless winters alone, finding solace only within the serene walls of his workshop? Though he nor the Higuri had not even the slightest iota of the notion for betraying the Blood, it did not stop him from being apprehensive. He was determined to prove himself before the nobles, but he simply did not know how to proceed…
Within the Castle Darkholde there were many families of note cavorting with each other. Among them were two of the most prestigious and decorated clans in the Kingdom – House Bellerose and House Sanglune, whose two clans were recently joined together through marriage. As they conversed, one of the members of the house noticed the boy, seeing through the crowd to point him out to the lord and lady of House Sanglune. He turned to a womann in a simple cashmere gown and whispered in her ear, “It seems we’ve a dissident in the ranks, my lady… A member of the Higuri, I’d wager.”
Hearing the name of that clan widened the womann’s eyes somewhat. With a graceful turn of her heel she turned to her new in-law and wagged a dainty finger in his face.
“No dissident,” she spoke softly. “He’s merely different from the rest.” She looked over her shoulder to a strapping young mann whose suit bore the crest of what appeared to be a raven with outspread wings bound from its neck down to its tail in chains, grasping the veins of a heart within its talons. “Excuse me, my love. I’ve an important matter to attend.”
“Very well, but do come back soon,” the mann said in a sultry tone as he kissed the back of the lady’s hand. She winked at him before slowly making her way through the crowd, heading straight for the recluse that was Thiji.
“Do I truly have a place here?” Thiji said in his mind. “This kingdom is vast… it would take winters before I’m even noticed by the higher caste. I am but a grain of sand amidst a desert, and have very little hopes of recognition…”
As his contemplation continued he would hear faint footsteps echoing from within… they were light, deliberate steps – slow, and consistent, like a metronome – as if one could dance to its rhythm. They grew louder as the boy snapped out of his trance, but not moving a muscle so as to feign disinterest. He quickly placed the gems in his pocket and straightened his posture before they would take notice, his gaze still fixed toward the rain. He would hear three more footsteps – each louder than the last – before they would cease. Silence fell over the area, with nothing but the sound of rainfall in his ears. Then, he heard a voice, barely above a whisper…
“Hello, little lamb.”
Thiji slowly turned his body to face the source of the voice – a ravishing lady – definitely of nobility – her slender form clad in a cashmere dress. She sported well-groomed tresses of brown, and radiated pure elegance. To Thiji, it was a vision of beauty the likes of which he has never seen. The womann grinned, moving around the boy, as if sizing him up. “A mann of few words, I see. And no stranger to the noble class…”
Thiji remained still as the lady circled him until stopping before the boy once more. What may have appeared to be luring the boy with her features was in fact not the case at all. He was sizing the womann up as well, analyzing her behavior and mannerisms. But there was more to this this womann than one would see from the surface. Behind her beauty she was clever. Cunning. She would pick up on this after her roundabout, taking his mere silence as more than just simple respect for his superiors. She then slowly reached for his hands, taking them into her own and inspecting them. Her skin was as smooth as porcelain to Thiji, as if an angel from above had graced this humble mortal with her touch. After a few quiet moments of deliberation, the noblewomann beamed in utter satisfaction, as though she had recovered a prized possession that was lost for many winters. Her gaze slowly met with Thiji’s as she chuckled softly.
“You shall serve me well, young Magistrate,” she declared. Thiji’s eyes became as wide as ever, not expecting such a response from a noble. “Belleholm will have use of you, as will the Grand County of Bindings, for we are Tenetur ad Cordis – ‘Bound to the Heart.’”
The revelation hit Thiji like a coarse stone against his skull – the womann before him was none other than Countess Gwenore Bellerose-Sanglune, wife of Count Aiden Sanglune, both powerful figures in Blackheart’s hierarchy. Despite her status, she was no more a servant of her people than anyone else who comprised the Blood of Blackheart, upholding loyalty as the highest of virtues. Benevolent, but also shrewd. This was the vision of beauty standing before him, and as he came to his senses, he silently cursed himself for not rendering the proper respects to one of the kingdom’s most influential individuals. With his hands currently restrained, however, all he could do was bow his head low to her. Gwenore took note of this, and lowered his hands before using a finger to raise his head by his chin. “I know of your clan, young Magistrate; I know of your works. And it is because of this knowledge that I will have you serve under us – under the Bindings. We are menn and womenn of ambition, and I can see in your cold eyes that that same passion burns within you: to become a goldsmith worthy of legend; to create masterpieces made to adorn the heads and bodies of Emperors and Empresses. The Grand County of Bindings will be the jewel of Blackheart, and we will require hard and resilient hands to polish and facet it in our image. But most of all, we require loyalty. To betray us is to betray the Blood, and Blackheart as a whole. But I can see that you do not intend that, as some of the other simple-minded nobles may believe.”
Her words moved the boy so that he may as well have been brought to tears. She understood him and his plights, and knew that his loyalty to Blackheart was genuine.
“The realm at large will be filled with the Blood of Blackheart, as Queen Rowena envisioned, but to do this, we will require tools. Tools such as your skilled hands to bring our kingdom glory, and sow envy into all those who are not of our ilk. So I ask you plainly: will you serve?”
Whatever doubts the boy had in his mind had vanished almost instantly after being judged by Countess Gwenore. He immediately nodded his head and spoke his first words to her:
“I will, My Countess. I will carry out any task you bestow upon me, and bring you nothing short of perfection.”
His answer pleased Countess Gwenore that it brought another grin on her face. Pulling her finger away from his chin she nodded her head.
“Good,” she said. “Because I know of a project suited for your talents…”
Coming back into reality, Thiji, now Mayor of the town of Moonbliss, opened his eyes and stared at the bust. On its head was what appeared to be the makings of a grand tiara, no doubt awaiting its fate of resting upon the crown of his muse. Looking back toward the entrance of his vault, he gazed at the image atop the doorway: a snow owl resting inside a blossoming alyssum, with the words “In Virtute Pulchritudinis” etched over it.
“Power in Beauty,” Thiji murmured, reciting the credo of his house. His clan prized elegance in all forms. When the Countess graced him with her presence that day, it was a sign from above – an omen that would provide the reclusive goldsmith the drive and the will he needed to bring greatness to himself and to his house. And he would chronicle his musings tidily within a diary which he kept on his person. A lady, as powerful and as influential to rival that of kings and queens, valued the simpler things in life, and in such simplicity, a trained eye would witness the elegance which belied it.
Thiji placed a hand upon the statuette’s cheek, caressing it with a touch akin to that of a lover’s. He was enchanted. Enthralled. Mesmerized. The spell she cast upon him would be the source of inspiration the young Magistrate needed. He wanted nothing more now than to serve her and House Sanglune through his skill and prowess in gemcraft.
“Countess Gwenore…” he whispered. “These hands are your tools now. I pray to the Star of Zenobia that my masterworks will move you and your husband the Count to tears. By your will, I shall gild your bedchambers in gold and emerald. And I swear by my house… you shall be reborn as a goddess among menn.”
