>>6061990Once more you hesitate to share this with Rubida. You feel your relationship may not really be the same after this anymore. Your eyes shift towards her right arm — the wizened, withered arm that caused her so much sorrow. You have both been touched by evil, though it was of a different kind.
But she shared her story back when she was trying to prove a point, that she could work with you. Perhaps it’s time to truly repay her in kind.
Your hand leaves the canter and you finish chewing, then taking a deep breath to try and feel better you take off your cameo and clasp it with both hands, rubbing your fingers over the smooth surface.
“My family name is Candente,” you begin. “It’s a common surname around where we come from. Many people emigrated from the lands of the Throne when the Echorian started growing in power and influence, looking for a better life. Those who could not or did not dare to reach for the Holy Land tried to settle in the southern parts of the inland sea. It’s a pleasant place,” you recall, your voice growing thick with nostalgia as you explain. “Our Trevirian ancestry forsaken, we took another name. One that means ‘from the land of Candéa.”
Rubida nods, waiting silently for you to continue. She looks at you with a crease of worry in her eyes, but you admire how poised she looks, how skilled she is at keeping her emotions reined in. You feel a bout of jealousy claw at your stomach.
“As such— as such our family started out as reeds collector. For paper. Much of the paper around the world comes from there. It’s a tradition that goes all the way back to Saint Kishirra. But over time we shifted to wine. We grew. Over generations, our clan began to span large wineries, where we all worked together.”
You bring your right hand around the canter and pour a drop of wine on your glass, then you take a sniff.
“This is rosso da Trincera,” you say. “It’s not that sweet, a bit dry perhaps. People often mix it up with honey and fruits.” You put the glass down. “I was learned in the trade, you see. Mother told me I was born in the wort — I had good senses for wine. And for a few years it was good — we had three or four cultivars, and we took good care of your lands.” A pause as you go back to the start of the end. “And than whatever happened with the Crimson Echorists… happened.”
[cont.]
