0. Ilmira's Declaration - Prologue
A lone woman stepped out into the middle of the dance floor. A space had already cleared by the time she reached it, and those at the edges removed themselves politely to give her more room. Any few whispers had fallen silent, allowing her footsteps to echo faintly.
For a moment, she paused to rally her strength for the announcement she was bound to make. In the brief moment, she found herself instead wondering what the rest of the room saw. A warrior, the Grand General and Living Bastion of Theolin? A pampered aristocrat, the Consort Presumptive, the Queen’s Lady? A nervous woman, far out of her depth in a well of her own digging?
Ilmira was all of those, to different degrees, but she was also just a slim figure in the eye of a crowded room. Hardly visible but for the lights gleaming off the soft, light fabric of her gown.
The dress’s material seemed to flaunt wealth and position, but she and her seamstress knew it was truly to avoid aggravating her condition. Light fabric, so as not to tire ya, she heard the dressmaker saying, though at the time it had been through a mouthful of pins. Airy enough to float and hide a stumble. Soft so as not to rub you wrong. We’ll do right by you, General.
Indeed, the edges of her skirts seemed to be floating on the floor rather than making contact with it, and that wasn’t due to length. The weight was light, but the color dark, to hide embroidered wards against stains at its hems. She stilled her hand as she thought of them, holding her drink steady again so that it wouldn’t spill onto the skirts. No need to test that magic.
But no matter how fast thought may be, this was too long to spend in self-reflection.
“Esteemed guests,” she began confidently. Confidence was key. “And those not quite so esteemed.”
A smile is enough to sell that one. Not the most original opening, but enough to help break the ice and get the speech rolling. A soft roll of laughter from the crowd did nothing to soothe her nerves though, not with the news she had to deliver.
“I am glad for your attendance: the evening’s celebration will remain in my memory for quite some time - at least until the next party clears it.”
More appreciative chuckles, but that’s more for the wine. She had yet to break from tradition, and a speech had been expected, after all.
“However, I must bring a solemn note into our joy.”
Some apprehension at that, but no one seemed too concerned. They likely thought she was going to mention the anniversary of the war’s end, a veterans memorial, or something of the kind. Perfectly natural, and a good gesture, in line with her character. The more gossipy types began whispering about her potential retirement. Some of them were half right.
“I must apologize to you all, for my cowardice.”
That finally sent a wave of shock through the crowd. Cowardice? The Living Bastion? Those that weren’t focused on her looked to judge the Queen’s reaction, or the King's, or their advisors seated with them. They all remained solemn faced - she’d prepared them for this.
“I ask only that you grant me the benefit of the doubt in this matter, as this news has not been easy for me to share. I would’ve brought it forward sooner, if not for the lack of certainty. Now I no longer doubt.”
If they were worried before, the interest had truly grabbed hold of them now. She could see some literally leaning forwards to hear what she had to say. Their attention didn’t make matters easier, but with the first words spoken, it was too late to withdraw.
Ilmira looked down at her drink, the soft distortion of her reflection in the water. She resisted the urge to fling the cup, and the wild thought that she wished it were full of something that would put her into a stupor. Instead, she steeled herself, and looked up to meet the crowd’s eyes. This had been her idea.
“Most of you know that I was quite ill, following our victory - many of you noted my absence at the coronation ceremony. This was not, and was never, due to doubt over our rulers - long may they reign.” As the blessing was echoed, she heard one woman gasp and say, “a baby!”
Ilmira almost wished that was the answer.
“It is with a heavy heart I must explain that I lied upon my return. I told you all I had recovered, and that I was quite well. That was not the case. I am, to this day, still ill. I have simply become better at hiding it.”
She made eye contact with Keirlan, her illusion mage. A slight nod conveyed much - that he was prepared, that he supported her. That this was the right choice. Or perhaps she was reading too much into it, and he was simply ready.
“With some help of course. I refuse to carry that façade any further.” On cue, Keirlan dropped the minor illusion he’d kept cast on her all night. The same illusion he’d cast countless times before at previous state functions. For this night, for this announcement, Ilmira had gone without even the usual make up underneath, worn in case the illusion dropped.
The faint sensation of magic fell away, and the nobles of Theolin were greeted with the true state of their most honored warrior. They could see how bony her arms had become, how the skin drooped just a bit too much to be normal. How hollow her cheeks had become, complementing the bags under her eyes barely paler than bruises. Her color, too, had changed to something less tan, more ashen. She did not look entirely like a corpse, but compared to the radiant health they had expected from her, it had to be quite a shock.
Ilmira had no idea if her hair looked different, her facial expression; she had given Keirlan full control over that aspect. She hadn’t had the energy to care at the time they’d discussed it. She’d asked him to tone down his aesthetic flairs for this evening, to make her transition less dramatic, but she’d refused to look in the mirror. It was impossible to tell if he’d listened.
The murmurs and gasps spread. It was more than shock to this crowd, it was fear. Ilmira was their strength, the hero of Theolin’s independence. If the Living Bastion fell....
“I continue to serve Theolin.” Ilmira’s voice was steady. She raised her hand, and grit her teeth. It was like pulling out lengths of her own insides, but a spark caught, turning to a ball of mage fire in her hand. The effort of this alone would put her in bed for the next few days. A necessary sacrifice.
Ilmira let the flame extinguish, lowering her hand again. The display had calmed some of the crowd - if she could still turn entire fields to flame, what did it matter if she could swing a sword? Few would notice the flame was not as bright as it had once been, or the faint sheen of exertion on her brow.
“Moreover, I do not leave you undefended. It is my honor, in Their Majesties names, to announce the formation of the Order of Theolin. All who wish to serve as Knights or Warmages of our nation will be welcome in the capital, and provided food, shelter, and training, until such a time they may either take up commission or prove unfit for such duties.”
The same message was being sent to every outlying town and village. Scribes and staff were already on hand to begin sorting the recruits who would take the bargain. Ilmira had personally contacted those who would serve as instructors - one of them caught her eye from across the hall, and gave her a nod of solemn respect. Even they hadn’t known the reason she’d pushed for this project.
“I leave the Order in the hands of its capable General Catalin, as Knight Commander, and General Fio as Mage Commander.”
The two stepped forward as they were called, matching pins now elegantly displayed to hold small capes in place. The memory of how Catalin had protested hers was enough to bring a genuine smile to Ilmira’s face.
“My honorable fellows, please take your places.”
That was her final line. As the focus of the crowd transferred to the newly minted commanders, Ilmira moved back to the sidelines. She longed to leave, but forced herself to stay, silently thanking Lena and Keirlan for establishing themselves at her side.
The oath giving did not take long, and then Pyrion was calling in his court voice for dancing and celebration, while Juventia sent Ilmira a brief and worried look. She nodded, and the Queen’s court mask was back in place, jesting with those around her as she accepted Fio’s invitation to dance. Beside her, her brother did the same with Catalin.
Ilmira left before they’d even finished taking their places. She made it four strides down the hall before she collapsed.
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