Behind the Veil

A short piece of fiction about Fiora and the life she leads before meeting the characters.

Fiora sat alone at the edge of the dance floor. She hadn’t chosen to be alone, but even here in Montaigne everyone knew what a Vodacce girl wearing black signified. From behind her dark veil, Fiora could feel their fear of her, of what she could do, or rather of what they thought she could do. In truth Fiora’s power with Sorte magic was really quite small. However, even with her ability she could still see the delicate lattice of fate strands joining the assembly together. It was an intricate and beautiful web of colours, it bound everyone to each other in a complicated knot of joins and cross links. No one but a Fate Witch, a Sorte Strega, could see this marvel. More advanced practitioners of the art could twist and adapt it, which is why they were held in such fear and occasional contempt. However, today the gathered nobles had decided to turn their attention elsewhere. They felt safe to ignore the quiet girl in black, who sat like a statue with her hands together neatly in her lap. For her part Fiora was content to observe the twists and turns of the great weave, and remain alone in the shadows of the dance floor like a watching ghost.

Out ahead of her, under the glittering chandeliers, whirled the assembled nobility of Montaigne and their guests. Fiora watched and smiled at the glamour in front of her, content to be outside it all. A part of her longed to get up and join the dancing, to twirl about in a beautiful dress laughing and smiling, but it wasn’t her place to do so. Anyway, she hadn’t got the faintest clue how to dance, and so would probably only embarrass herself. No, better to sit here and listen to the music. It was wonderful to listen to a full orchestra play such lively music. She wasn’t usually able to do so, as in Vodacce such an orchestra played only more sombre and fitting entertainments for the noble ladies. Of course when Fiora and her other well born feminine relations retired for the evening, things got a lot more interesting. The gentlemen brought their whores and courtesans into their halls and the music became a lot livelier. Fiora’s own family, the Bernoulli, were a little more sedate in their tastes than the other families, such as the Falisci, but they were still Vodacce. As a girl she had got as close as she dared to the great parties and gazed in awe at the swirl of colour below. To any young woman, especially one born to a life where black was the only seemly colour, the courtesans were magnetic. These women dressed not merely provocatively, but sometimes downright scandalously. They flaunted themselves, with bright jewels and vivid clothing that covered little and promised much more. They swept around the gatherings, the queens of all they surveyed and held every man in the room in their thrall.

However, like most Strega, Fiora eventually grew tired of trying to watch. To be caught was to get a beating from her father, but that wasn’t the only reason she stopped sneaking nearer to the lights and the music. There comes a time when watching becomes painful, as it reminds you that you can never have the life that is laid out before you. She wasn’t really sure she would want that life anyway. After all, as she aged a courtesan lost her power, whereas Fiora’s magic could only become stronger. The glamour of the Vodacce party was only sweet because it was denied. Certainly, she would have loved to spend just one night among the lights and the music, but it just wasn’t going to happen. Everyone had their place; Theus had seen to that. She was lucky after all, how many poor folk looked to the towers of the great islands and wished they could live among such riches. Worse yet was to be among the Senzavista, those born noble and denied the power of Sorte. Theirs was a terrible lot, living among the Witches and denied a life and an education, but also denied the magical power that evened the balance.

These musings were beginning to depress Fiora, which annoyed her. She wanted to listen to the music as the violinist was particularly good this evening. Perhaps later she would have time to practice some of the tunes she had heard tonight on her own violin. Her father wouldn’t approve, but if he didn’t come and visit Fiora very often he’d never know. She caught herself starting to wave her hands about to try and practice the bow movement and returned her hands to a more seemly position, clasped in her lap. She sighed, what was taking so long? They would come for her soon and she could get this evening out of the way.

As usual she had been dumped here while her father went about his business. Erbaldo was a high ranking member of the Bernoulli family, and when invited to such events he could hardly arrive unaccompanied. To bring his favourite courtesan, a rather shrewish but clever woman called Illyra, would be inappropriate as well as rather expensive. Courtesans charged for their services, and it was a long way from Vodacce to Montaigne. The other option that any non-Vodacce might have considered of course, was to bring Fiora’s mother, Erbaldo’s wife. This apparently obvious solution was utterly ridiculous to anyone who understood the Vodacce way of life. Theresa Bernoulli was herself a powerful Sorte Witch, and although she had provided Erbaldo with three sons and two daughters, Erbaldo was still utterly terrified of her. This was not unusual, most noble marriages were arranged, and Fiora’s parents were no different. With a mastery of Sorte at her command, Erbaldo wanted as little to do with his wife as possible. She lived out on the mainland with Luisa, Fiora’s elder sister, and spent her time sewing and (if Erbaldo was to be believed) plotting the demise and downfall of her husband. So this left only Fiora as an appropriate companion to these events, a quirk of fate that she thanked Theus for almost every day of her life.

She was well aware that she was not able to really join in these functions as any other woman might do, such things were not seemly. She had tried to join in conversations in her first few outings, but found the groups of ladies beat a hasty retreat as soon as she approached. On her second outing she made ‘hunting a conversation’ a sport for a while, attempting to sneak up on wild packs of noblewoman across the open plains of the ballroom. However, when she did get close enough to ensnare her prey she realised she had nothing to say. She knew nothing about the court, or the latest fashions, and the women in her presence were always far too tongue tied by her sudden appearance to enlighten her. She considered the whole affair to be another lesson from Theus about her place in life and accepted the lesson with humility.

Even though she was always stuck on the edge of the grand parties, she still looked forward to her father’s business trips. It was a rare occasion to leave the shuttered apartments in the great towers of the family island of Amozare and see something of the world. Even better if the journey was a long one, and she could eat dinner in a roadside inn or sit briefly in a bar and see the amazing collection of people who frequented it. Sadly, her father usually insisted it wasn’t appropriate that she should be in such a common place and had her meals brought up to her room. However, sometimes things were rushed, or he simply forgot, or no maidservant could be found for her and she was able to ‘slum it’ with the gentlemen. As she was shut away in the ladies’ quarters most of the time, it was refreshing to be the only woman in the company of men for a while, even if they heavily moderated their behaviour in her presence.

What she most looked forward to on such outings from Vodacce was the coach ride home. The journeys to these functions were always full of plotting and planning. However, the occasions always exhausted her father and on the way home he would usually fall asleep. This allowed Fiora to slide her arm around his and snuggle herself onto his shoulder. Her father was a busy and undemonstrative man who was frightened a little by even his youngest daughter’s power. When asleep his guard was down, and Fiora could get close to him for a while at least.

Fiora looked up and saw Gianni enter the hall. He wasn’t a large man like his brother, but like most Vodacce men he strode about as if he could easily defeat any man in the room. Gianni was one of Fiora’s bodyguards. He and his brother Umberto were members of the Corattzi family, who had been protecting the noble daughters of the Bernoulli line for centuries. Both men were sworn to lay down their lives to protect Fiora. However, they didn’t work for her; their loyalty truly belonged to Fiora’s father. So more often than not they felt like guard dogs rather than bodyguards.

Gianni made his way over to the buffet table and chose for himself a small slab of chicken to gnaw on. He looked across to Fiora and met her gaze. Then he indicated the exit on the other side of the room with a dismissive nod of his head. How dare he, the man was a servant of the family, a servant of Fiora’s. More than that, she was a Sorte Strega, and that alone demanded respect. However, there was little she could do, Gianni was passing orders from her father and so she could not disobey. She stood and walked over to him, as he stood there taking his pick of the food on offer. She paused as she passed him and glared at him. He started to smile, knowing that there was little she could do, but as he contemptuously met her gaze his smile faded. The look in her eyes was of barely concealed rage and with that look Gianni was reminded of her power. He dropped his gaze by way of apology, like a wolf put in its place by the pack leader. Fiora had made her point, but she still slapped him across the face to make sure he remembered. Then she left the room, letting Gianni deal with the few intrigued glances her violence had attracted. However, her actions failed to draw much attention, as Gianni was certainly not the only man who would get a slap in the face from a woman by the end of the evening.

Fiora left the ballroom, walking into the corridors beyond. Her moment with Gianni had given her a good excuse to leave. No one would be suspicious of a Fate Witch who had argued with one of her bodyguards and decided to retire. It was obvious she wasn’t enjoying the party, and the other guests would be glad to see her gone. Few people would spare her a second thought. Away from the Ballroom the house was a lot quieter. Fiora passed a few couples in hushed conversation, pursuing their own clandestine assignations. As she passed they silenced themselves and turned away, as if Fiora could read their eyes. She couldn’t of course, although she sometimes wished dearly to know the passion and thoughts behind a lover’s eyes. However, she had her duty, to her family and her station, and such thoughts would only bring her tears.

She went up the large and empty staircase to the upper floor. The music from the ballroom faded behind her as she walked, a dark ghost wandering the quieter corners of the house. Eventually she came to her room, even though it was her own bedroom, she still knocked on the door. Tonight the room no longer belonged to her; it was her place of business. A voice from inside, her father’s voice told her to enter.

Fiora stepped in and closed the door behind her. Erbaldo, her father sat on her bed, quietly dominating the room. Her nightdress lay on the bed, but not where she had left it. Erbaldo had tossed it to the other side of the bed to give his feet room, and it lay there crumpled. She considered chastising him, but he would only point out that he hadn’t put his feet on it and so had been adequately considerate. So she stood by the door, head bowed, awaiting her father’s orders.

Erbaldo got up from the bed and went over to her. He kissed her on the cheek by way of greeting his daughter then led her to the large dressing table and sat her there. Fiora didn’t own many things. Her violin rested in its case under the bed, and her few clothes (all black) lay in the wardrobe. Beneath her veil there was little need for make up and other feminine toiletries. However, the few things she did own were on the dressing table, and, like her nightdress, they too had been moved aside. Fiora felt invaded even this small room didn’t belong to her. She had only this morning amused herself by arranging the few bottles and jars neatly on the table. Now they had all been pushed aside to accommodate a selection of papers and writing implements. Again, she considered complaining, but Erbaldo would remind her that she was here to work, not to play with jars and bottles.

Erbaldo pushed forward the inkwell and handed her a quill. Even in her father’s presence she was reluctant to take it. For a Fate witch, or indeed for any noble daughter, to be able to read and write was death. The men were so frightened of the power of their women’s sorcery that they had forbidden an education to any girl who showed even the slightest ability to control the magic of the strands. Perhaps in the beginning these strictures had been a burden to the first Sorte Strega. Now they were simply a fact of life. Some women even wore it as a badge of pride. ‘See, I have power, I do not need an education, such a thing is beneath me.’ After all, the courtesans made a point of becoming educated, and this made reading and writing the entertainment of choice for strumpets and harlots. That was proof enough that such skills were for the common folk and not the nobility. What Fate Witch would want to tarnish herself with the talents of such women? Denial, Fiora mused, is a powerful thing, especially when wielded by an entire class of women.

However, Fiora was quite different to most of her peers, for she had learnt to write. She had never been taught the skill, it had happened quite by accident. One day when she was young she had found herself in her father’s study. Finding ink and quill to hand she had idly decided to experiment with these unfamiliar objects. She knew what she was doing could be dangerous, but she was in an adventurous mood, and there were no laws against a girl drawing. She found blank paper in the desk as well as some written sheets. So she started copying some of the scribbles on one onto the other. When her father entered the room he beat her soundly to doing such a thing. No daughter of his was going to shame him by learning something so base.

Fiora waited in dread for a more terrible punishment, but it never came. When Erbaldo looked at the paper he was amazed. The documents she had copied were done so well he couldn’t tell the difference. She had expertly copied his signature and that of some of his business rivals. Upon questioning the girl, she seemed to have no clue as to the nature of the documents. The ramifications of such a tool in his position became instantly clear to Erbaldo. He knew plenty of forgers, but none could be as trusted as a member of his own family. However, Fiora was so much more use due to her inability to read. He could give her any secret to work on, and she would never know what those secrets were. He tested Fiora, of course. He brought her something else to copy, her own death certificate. She copied it out for him without so much as batting an eyelid. Erbaldo was satisfied, and decided to put her to work.

So now Fiora attends these gathering with her father, shows her face long enough to become ignored and then retires. Once away from prying eyes the Corattzi brothers find what is required, such as an example of a signature or some important document. They bring it to Fiora and her father tells her what to copy. It has worked brilliantly for a year now. Who would suspect an uneducated woman of being able to forge documents?

Her father finished his briefing about tonight’s work. It was a simple job three papers that required the signature of the host. Gianni had found enough examples of his writing for Fiora to add his name to various damning documents for her father. It seemed she would get some of the evening to play her violin. Her father left and she set down to work, but with Erbaldo gone she dropped the doe-eyed look of incomprehension she wore for such meetings. She gathered up the papers and carefully read all that she could.

What she hadn’t told her father, and never would, was that since they started this project together the scrawls had begun to make sense. Gradually the lines and circles had become words to her and the secrets of the strange glyphs she could copy so easily began to reveal themselves. Once she had realised what was happening, her first reaction was fear and panic. If she were discovered, she would be burned. However, she later realised that when you are ignored, and few people really care enough to pay you any attention, it is easy to allow them to believe what they will about you. Fiora longed to read a book, indeed to read everything she could. What she saw in the documents hinted at a huge world beyond her cloistered life in Vodacce. However she knew there was no room for risk, and such things would have to wait.

So now she reads everything she copies and gradually learns her father’s secrets, his allies and enemies. One day her father will be told all about her accidental education, and on that day she will also have a few demands. After all, she will be the one armed with his secrets, and as any Fate Witch knows, in Vodacce secrets are power.