Lavinia was on her way to the market, when the horns first sounded. She had

just purchased some very nice eggplants, and was now looking for

complementary herbs. What she was not looking for was trouble, which is why

her first instinct when the alarm rang and people around her started to

frantically change their course, was to close her eyes and hope, it would go

away. It didn’t.

With a sigh she dropped her eggplant and ran back to the manor, as fast as her

legs would carry her. She had to warn the Farantes.

Old Lady Farante had been a kind and charitable woman, and when Lavinia had

been found in the woods, at the age of three, by a forgotten citizen, with no

memory of her origins and wild plants growing from her body, she had taken

her in, despite everyone saying she was possessed. She had thought that

maybe you could just remove the plants. You couldn’t. Still she had let her stay.

And even after her death, her nephew, Mister Farante and his wife had

continued to employ her as a chef, and payed her good money. And now they

were in the manor, a mile from the city, too far, to hear them: The blazing horns

of the approaching army.

Its arrival was not exactly unexpected, yet most certainly not hoped for, one

might even say dreaded. The possibility had been there, of course, but the

citizens had chosen to push it to the back of their minds as long as they could,

comforting themselves with vague predictions. It was more likely, that they

would march through the Caverns. The mountains were the quickest route to

the capital. The neighboring town was richer, in case they craved treasures.

Apparently they didn’t.

She had almost made it through the forest, almost reached the spot were she

had to leave the path and make her way between bushes and trees for the last

minutes, when she heard the horses. The horses wouldn’t have been too bad, if

she hadn’t also heard the dogs. Their excited barking told her all she needed to

know. They had caught her scent already. Exasperated she turned, slowing

down. There was no point in running, if your hunters had horses, but she would

not lead them to the manor.

She made the three steps until the next tree, before they reached her.

She forced herself to continue breathing and remembered what she had

learned about them from the songs sang late at night and the stories

grandmothers told the children if they didn’t behave.

They were bloodthirsty, merciless, a people made up from warriors and

warriors only, the spawn of devils and monsters, so horrifying to look at that

the strongest fighters fainted when they saw them. She pictured all this, while

the trampling hooves came to a stop, while footsteps sounded around her and

a red shape stepped in front of her. Only after she had gone through it all,

steeled her mind and given up on her life did she look up at the person in front

of her.

Unfortunately, the sight of a member of the Queen’s guard can be quite a lot,

for an unprepared watcher, and no amount of steeling your mind will change

that. Our poor Lavinia caught one glance of the crimson red breastplate,

decorated with rotten fingernails, the thick necklace, made from hundreds of

small trophies, the bright red markings on skin so dark, she thought night itself

must have painted it and the four eyes towering above her, below the thick hair

carefully braided into a skull helmet, and fainted on the spot.

The last thing she saw, before she hit the ground was the warriors moving all at

once to catch her.

The first thought on her mind, after she woke up bound to the same tree she

fainted next to, was that the singers and grandparents really could have

mentioned that their enemies were giants. Lavinia herself had always been on

the taller side, yet each of the women that circled her with careful movements

had at least one and a half heads on her, some even more. The one that had

scared her so much was among the latter, now crouched down in front of her.

Up close she saw, that she did in fact only have two eyes, and two impressively

realistic paintings of eyes on her forehead. That was, in a way, a relief, since it

meant that they were probably human. Hopefully.

The woman started speaking. Her voice was deep and smooth, almost soothing,

but her words were foreign and terrifying, and Lavinia‘s hands started quivering

against her will. The woman continued on for a few more seconds, then she

threw her head back in frustration and shouted something at her companions.

A general moment of disorder occurred, with the warriors shuffling around and

talking to each other in harsh, hectic sounds, before one of them was pushed

forward. She looked quite different from the others, Lavinia noted, in the way

that while she was just as tall, she was not as muscular and instead of a

breastplate and a loincloth, she wore simple robes, with leather protection in

several places. Her hair was different as well, made into a single long braid, not

a complicated up-do. She offered Lavinia a slight showing of her teeth, before asking, in slow and emphasized syllables: “What is your name?”

Our young heroine considered for a moment, if she should give out her real

name. Then again, she assumed she was going to die anyways, so what

difference did it make, really?

“Lavinia.”, she answered, as dignified as possible in her situation.

“And what is your destination, Lavinia?”

“I- I was just leaving the city.”

The translator passed her answer on to the other women. Some nodded, but

Lavinias captor shook her head and began to yell again. The translator let her

finish her tirade, then turned back.

“Commander Akosua has expressed doubts that you’re telling the truth.”

She felt her face heat up, while sweat ran down her back in cold trickles.

“Well, I am.”, she insisted meekly.

“The commander has pointed out, that you are quite far from the road, which

does not fit with your narrative.”

She opened her mouth, to answer whatever her mind could come up with, then

closed it again, as the Commander unsheathed a long, glistening knife from her

belt and pressed the blade against her cheek.

She spoke to Lavinia directly, hissing at her, and although she did not

understand the words she most definitely caught their meaning.

She would have liked to be brave, in that moment, to put her principles above

her fears, but in the end, she was not a warrior or a martyr. She was just

Lavinia. So she told them.

They brought her back to the Estate in chains. She would have thought that her fear should be enough to drown out any other feeling, yet a flash of indignity shot through her as they neared the gates. The thought of all the other maids, as well as her employers seeing her, trussed up like a chicken, helpless in the hands of their enemies made bile rise up in her throat. Why had she not been more careful? The woman at the front gave a hand signal, and the whole cohort came to a halt right in front of the imposing building. A warrior with intricate patterns all over her hands stepped forward and banged her shield against the doors repeatedly, creating a booming sound that echoed around them for several more seconds after she stopped.

The doors stayed close. The warrior looked back, and the one at the front, their leader, she presumed, gave a small nod.

The doors, as it turned out, were not as stable as they looked. Only a few strikes of the weird, twisted swords they carried were enough to make it splinter like firewood.

The corridor behind seemed empty, and she could very well imagine were the place‘s inhabitants were right now, huddled in the furthest corner of the old tower, servants and family alike, united in their fear and humiliation. She would have shuddered at the thought, but her bounds prevented even the slightest movement.

Instead of respecting the estate‘s old age, and extraordinary beauty, the brutish warriors in front of her trampled through it, as if they owned it, destroying doors and hallways, dirtying the floors she spend long hours scrubbing, and breaking the occasional vases or windows. She caught herself thinking, that maybe her Lady’s death was a blessing for her, just so she would not have to see this.

They passed room after room, until her captors impatience became almost palpable, building up around them and penetrating the old, dignified air.

They were almost at the end now, climbing the stairs to the tower, when they spotted a figure standing above them, a few meters from the door to the last room.

Mister Farante looked smaller than she had ever seen him, yet he did not flinch or move his face even the tiniest bit as they approached.

The commander stepped forward, extending her hand as it was common. He did not dare to shake it, and she pulled it back, unsurprised.

She waved, and the translator stepped forward.

„Greetings. Can we assume that you are the master of this house, or are you just some poor wimp sent to die first?“

He paled remarkably fast. „ I am the master of this estate. My servants, they are good people. If they could leave…“

She interrupted him, to repeat his plea back to her people, who reacted with varying degrees of amusement.

Only after a few moments passed did she answer him.

„ We are not here for your servants. We will see everyone now.“

The commander motioned towards the door, as if to say: „Oh no, please, you go ahead.“ and he did, all the while throwing nervous glances at the warriors and Lavinia, kept in their midst.

They pushed her in after him, temporarily discarding her. She tried to make eye contact with her fellow maids, but they averted her eyes. „I‘m sorry. I had no choice…“

Her feeble voice was drowned out by the general commotion, as the warriors began to inspect the lines of people, sometimes touching their hair and noses, before coming to a halt and returning to their commander, whispering to her in a dire tone.

She turned to Mister Farante, a deep crease etched between her second pair of eyes.

„ Are these all the people from your household? Someone must be missing.“, stated the translator.

„No, no, those are all!“ Her Lords voice was shaking.

„ Really? Where is your wife?“

He pointed at the woman next to him. „There she is!That‘s her!“

Lavinia could not trust her eyes. The woman next to him was certainly dressed up like the Lady of the house, but it was quite apparent to her, and most other people in the room, that it was really one of the handmaidens, Leera, or something.

Judging from the commanders impression she was not impressed either. She stepped closer, taking the girls chin in her claws and taking in her appearance, before scratching her, once, right across her left cheek. The she stepped back, shaking her head and yelled.

„Are you sure that this is your wife?“ The translators tone was darker now. „Your wife is standing next to you, and is not hiding somewhere?“ She turned to Leera, smiling menacingly. „Are you his wife, sweetheart?If not you should tell us, before something bad happens.“

Leera shuddered, recoiling, but she pressed out a „Yes. I am his wife.“

The commander laughed, throwing her hands up and barking an order.

„Alright. Then you will be executed as soon as possible.“

Mister Farante cursed silently, as Leera‘s eyes widened and she was grabbed by two soldiers and dragged out of the room. They were close to the door already when she found her voice.

„No, no please. Don‘t, it‘s not me, I‘m not his wife, please.“

They dropped her immediately, like she was burning them, letting her sink to the floor in a heap. The commander stepped closer again.

„Well, well.“ declared her translator. „Then were is she? If you don‘t tell us, you will die.“

„No“, Leera stammered. „No you can‘t…no, please, no!“

The commander had reached for her blade, and she stared at it in horror. „Please don‘t…I…“

„She‘s outside. Hiding in the stables.“

It was not her voice, but Mister Farantes, who had spoken, staring directly at the commander, as if hoping she would understand him. „This girl is innocent, she was simply acting on my orders.“

They let Leera stand with the other maids, while three soldiers left the room. When they returned one of them had an ugly cut above her eye, blood mixing with red paint, and they were all holding onto Mrs Farante, who was struggling in between them.

„Miria…“ Mr. Farante attempted to move towards her, but was blocked by spears before he could move more that a few centimeters.

„Miria Farante. You are being accused of lying to soldiers of the great Queen, hiding from justice under a false identity and espionage.“

A murmur went through the room while the translator was still speaking.

They had all witnessed her, and Leera trying to trick the soldiers, but what about those other charges? A false identity? Espionage?

Lady Farante held her head high as she responded: „With all due respect, I have no idea what you are talking about. And I don‘t have anything to confess to you.“

„Oh, that‘s quite alright.“ The translators smile grew. „Our Queen will be here soon, to interrogate you personally. You can confess to her.“

And with these words, the Lady was dragged back out of the room, where they bound her to the railing and left her sitting uncomfortably on the stairs.

The warriors started moving as well, some leaving the room, presumably to search the estate for anything of value, while others stayed behind to watch them. The translator, who had been talking with her Commander quietly now turned back to them, announcing: You will all be held here, until the Queen arrives and determines your fate. Stay calm, and don‘t cause any trouble, if you want to survive this.“

Glances were exchanged, but no one dared to speak a word. They waited in absolute silence.

She was not sure how much time had passed, maybe an hour or two, when they heard the triumphing fanfares, far away at first, closer with every passing minute. And then they sounded through the estate, echoing off the walls with unbearable certainty. The queen had come.