"Happy birthday!"
Master Esmond took his hands from Parisa's eyes, and what she saw made her giggle due to the oddness of the thing. On the white sheets of her bed lay a small, silver dagger, inlayed with aquamarine stones, and Parisa cocked her head to one side to get a better look at the gift. Birthdays held some strange wonderment for Parisa, as the presents she received tended to be from Master Esmond and were often just as quirky as he was. Esmond had chosen the presents that she had gotten from her father when she was young, and she had always known it. Her father never paid enough attention to ascertain what she would want for a gift, so he left the task to his closest advisor.
Parisa thought herself rather lucky to have someone like Esmond around for birthdays. Esmond spent a lot of time with Parisa's mother when they were young, and it was Esmond who had been chosen to be her godfather. Esmond knew Parisa from back to front like a book and, for most birthdays, his presents were eerily accurate, which showed nothing more than his astute observational skills. This year, however, the gift made almost no sense to Parisa, and she spent a moment attempting to solve the riddle, which she was sure it was.
She picked up the dagger cautiously, as to not cut herself on its sharp edge, and smiled. "So, what's this all about?" she prodded.
Master Esmond shrugged, "I know it's an odd present to receive on one's fourteenth birthday, but I wanted to get you something practical. This year is not the year for books, I'm afraid, and I feel you may need it one day."
"What do you mean?"
"It's a cruel world out there, Parisa, and I would want a young lady to be able to defend herself."
"Esmond, I've never taken a self-defense class in my life. Father won't allow it."
"He may if I prod."
Parisa looked the dagger over in her hands and mused, "It is an odd present, but it is pretty. Thank you."
"You are very welcome. May your birthday be as merry and bright as your spirit."
She laid the dagger down onto her dresser and gave her teacher a hug. Esmond's chest was warm, and she felt her head rise and fall with his breath. "At least," she said, "you remembered my birthday."
There was a quiet knock on the door and Master Esmond turned to open it. The swinging door revealed a page who trembled in his boots as though he was prepared to be shouted at.
"Good evening," Esmond addressed.
"Lady Parisa, Lord Talbot requests your presence," the page said.
"Thank you. We'll be right there."
The page clicked his heels together in a tight bow and scuttled off, bustling away to some other busy task.
"Maybe you spoke too soon." Master Esmond smiled and pushed Parisa toward the door. "Go on. I'll be waiting in my study when you're finished. I have another surprise for you."
Parisa followed the hallway down, her heeled boots clicking on the stone, and a knot formed in her gut. Her father had not celebrated her birthday with her for three years, so the fact that he had changed his mind now made her uneasy. A guard opened the heavy, glass door to the throne room where her father sat on his place of honor, gazing out the window. Solicitude clouded her father's expression, something that Parisa noticed often as of late, and he drummed his fingers on the rest of the chair. The guard presented a salute in front of him, bending into a deep bow, and reported, "My Lord, Lady Parisa."
Lord Talbot glanced in Parisa's general direction and straightened up. "Parisa," he breathed, as though a weight rested on his chest. "I need to have a talk with you."
Talbot waved a hand and dismissed the guard and Parisa curtsied to her father. "Yes, Papa?" she asked.
"Don't call me that."
"Well," Parisa felt her throat knot up as she replied, "would you prefer Father?"
"At this point I would prefer Lord Talbot. Do you understand?"
"I suppose, My Lord, but—"
"Now that you're of age, you need to actually start being useful. I figured because your grades are so poor, I simply cannot have you seated in a dignitary position and your lack of qualifications would make a mockery of me. I assume what you lack in mental skill you may make up in athleticism, so I am placing you into the Elite Training Program."
"W-What?"
"I know a woman has never been in the Elite Guard before, but I feel you will do well there. Also, if someone else is training you, I won't need to babysit you like I have been. I want you to train hard, you hear? Treat it like your life. I want you to be the face of viciousness and discipline, so a change of lifestyle is in order. Your room is being cleaned as we speak, and your dolls thrown out."
"Daddy, don't throw away my—"
"Don't' address me that way," Lord Talbot threatened, stood, and began pacing. "You will train only. That is all. If I see you doing anything otherwise, you will be severely punished. Playing is for little girls, and you are no longer a little girl, are you not? Master Esmond will no longer be in charge of you. This is Commander Crevan."
Parisa spun around when the sound of clanking, metal boots filled her ears to meet the eyes of a tall, broad man whose hand gripped the hilt of his weapon and whose long, dark hair knotted taught behind his head. Wrinkles and canyons created by burnt skin marred his face and scars etched his chin and cheeks like roadways on a map. "My Lord," he barked.
"This is Parisa. I want you to treat her no differently from the other boys. Understood?"
"Yes, My Lord."
"When we are done here," Talbot continued and returned to his throne, "you are to go get your schoolbooks from your room and go out to the barracks. Commander Crevan will instruct you from there."
"Father, let me attest for my ability. I promise to work hard in school and never disappoint you again," Parisa pleaded. "Please don't put me into the guard."
Talbot waved his hand at her like she was nothing more than a trifle, a gnat in his face, a passing thought. "You are dismissed."
Parisa stood there for a moment in consternation, hot tears in her eyes. She curtsied curtly, turned to leave the room, and slammed the door behind her. How could he make a decision like that? Horror stories circulated throughout the Naa'a district of the conditions at which the boys were trained, and, more often than not, the boys died. For most, the training was so rigorous that their bodies would often fail, and the draft pulled normally from the Dza'ya district, where the boys were starving to begin with.
Perhaps, Parisa hoped, if she spoke with Esmond, he would get the whole thing sorted out. Or had he known the whole time? Had he gotten her a dagger to protect herself because he knew it was coming? The elevator moved too slowly and Parisa tapped her foot in exasperation as she waited. When she burst through the door to Esmond's floor, tears fresh on her cheeks, Esmond shot to his feet and wrapped his arms around her as she clung to him. "Good heavens, Parisa!" he exclaimed. "What on earth is the matter?"
"I will never see you again!" Parisa tried to articulate through her sobs.
"What?"
Parisa shook as she lowered herself into Esmond's chair, stuttering, "Father said I'm going to train instead of s-study. M-My new guardian is Commander Crevan and I-I've never seen him before in my life. Father told me I wasn't allowed to call him that anym-more – I'm to become an Elite Guard and... a-and..."
"Sh..." Esmond comforted. He placed his hand on the back of her head and held her as she shook. "We'll get through this. Did he say you weren't allowed to see me?"
"N-No," Parisa stammered and shook her head, but did not believe what she said. "He said if he caught me doing anything besides training and studying, I'd be p-punished."
"I'm sure he doesn't mean it, Parisa. You know how your father is, cold and—"
"Am I merely an a-animal to h-him? D-Did I not perform well enough?"
"Your grades were fine, Lady Parisa."
"Ap-parently not, because he sees fit, due to my lack of intelligence, to throw away my things and turn me out. H-He said he didn't want to b-babysit me anymore."
Esmond yanked a piece of wrinkled parchment from the desk, took his ink pen, and dipped it in the well near Parisa. He drew something on the paper with precision and continued, "I suppose your other present will have to wait, then. I wouldn't want it to get thrown away. Once you complete your training, you'll most likely be put on patrol. There's a well in Dza'ya where women wash their clothes and their bodies, pretty easy to spot. There's a loose stone on the edge of the well, on the eastern side, and those of us who are accustomed to it exchange letters there. Using this, we will be able to communicate without endangering your position with your father."
"Why not use the post?"
"Some things government eyes are not meant to see."
"I don't understand what's happening."
"As always, you're welcome and safe here, so if anything happens come straight to me, no matter what."
Esmond blew on the parchment to dry the ink and handed it to Parisa, who folded it in her hands, which were trembling. "Remember," he affirmed, "you aren't to let anyone catch wind of this. Do you understand?"
She nodded and left his study with a heavy heart. She could not bear to say goodbye, and she was too upset to stay. It would only be too painful. In her room, she quietly gathered up her books, hid the silver dagger in her boot, and headed for the courtyard in her royal attire. How shameful it would be, she guessed, to look upon the crown heir to the throne of Segeno marching across a cold field in fresh mud toward the barracks. At every step she took, she felt her identity stripped away, bit by bit, and soon even the clothes she wore would be gone. She figured that she would get new clothes and other accommodations when she arrived, and that people would soon forget that she was Lady Parisa, daughter of the Sovereign of Segeno.
It was bitter and cold outside, like her father's eyes, and it was nightfall, the stars obscured by the fading light. She clenched the paper tightly in her hands as she went but before she got to the barracks, she slipped the paper into the front cover of her Philosophy book. When she arrived, she took a deep breath, trying to calm her shaky gasping, and knocked on the door to the commander's building.
She had only ever visited the barracks once when Esmond taught her briefly of military strategy. The military was Segeno's pride and joy, one of the most well-funded parts of the clockwork that ran it all. When the first Segenites emerged from the underground safe havens that protected them from the deadly meteor shower that struck the earth, Segeno had been the first place they went. The city had been relatively untouched, and its insides held technology beyond their wildest dreams. While they had to start over with agriculture, literature, and construction, at the very least the Embassy Palace stood tall, albeit missing some glass and in need of repair. Storage rooms underneath the city had contained what the ancients called guns, as well as supplies and computers, technology from long ago. These resources were salvaged and put to good use. They were the backbone of the Segeno military.
It pained Esmond to be in the barracks, Parisa had seen it on his face, and to watch the boys he looked over as the Dza'ya district leader put to such a monumental task. Commander Crevan had screamed at those boys then, who struggled to exercise in the monsoon-season rain. She never imagined that one of those boys would soon be her.
Commander Crevan threw open the door and glared down at the girl, eyes devoid of compassion, and the warm electric light from his quarters rimmed his shadowed figure. Parisa gazed up at him, fear apparent in her eyes, and her hands shook. He no longer wore his armor, and she became quickly aware of how strong he actually was. If she attempted anything, he could overtake her in an instant. His face wrinkled into a scowl. He sneered, "You the runt of the litter, or what? Are you his only child?"
"Yes, sir."
"Speak up." Crevan did not invite her inside. "Are those all your books?"
She nodded and shuddered a little, despite her trying to keep her sobs inside her chest.
"I said speak up. Do you not know how to speak to your superiors?" Crevan demanded as he closed the door behind him. The warm light from the cabin was quickly shadowed by the cold of the night, and Parisa shivered.
"And stop sniveling!"
Before Parisa could protest, she was hit hard across her face. Commander Crevan had struck her with the back of his hand, but Parisa held her composure and straightened up after she recoiled, raising her voice. "Sorry, sir," she replied with resolution.
Parisa had never been hit by anyone before. Her father had gotten close, but never brought himself to do it. Commander Crevan's hand hit her cheek like a rock, and the spot swelled and warmed. It stung for only a moment, but as the bruise formed and the skin broke under the surface, a dull pain pulled through the spot every time her heart beat.
"That's better," Crevan grumbled and clasped his hands behind his back. "Your bunk is this way."
Parisa followed him to her new room; a small, ramshackle building that looked like it could barely stand. The room contained a small bed, a dresser, and a bathroom, but nothing more. It was not the same as the other buildings, which were long and looked like they slept many. She probably was assigned the shack because it was inappropriate for her to sleep with the other men and boys. It seemed as though they had just been told that morning she would be assigned to the Elite Guard.
"You have your work clothes in the dresser. Put your books wherever you like as long as I don't trip on them. You're to be up at dawn."
Commander Crevan slammed the door as he left and Parisa crumpled into sobs. She let her books fall from her arms as she sank to the floor, shuddering into her misery. Being betrayed, especially by someone from her own family, burned worse than fire on skin.