The Ashes of Allmau: The Orfolk of Allmau

Chapter 1

"He was more of a father to us than you ever were." she said those damning words under breath in a crowded room, yet they found their way to her father's ears.

Tension snapped when her father slapped her across the face with such force that she twisted and collapsed to the cold paved floor of the Guildhall auditorium. A gasp from the wealthy delegates of the summit gave to a sobering silence.

Rosalyne was in shock. Her father, Heinrich, was known by most to be a stoic, steely and pragmatic man. Burdened with leading the land through a post-war depression, he had done so with measure and fortitude, rarely pushed so far as to show a morsel of emotion to family, let alone colleagues.

Rosalyne placed a hand against her cheek. Her pale complexion, dappled with freckles, was hot and tender to the touch. The pain shot through her body and woke her from her trance with a flinch. She screwed her eyes shut and held back a tear.

Her mother, a tall, slender, stately woman, sat beside her baby-bearing aunt. Between the two of them were Rosalyne's youngest brother and sister, blonde, blue-eyed twins, boy and girl, dressed in their best and sitting like wide-eyed impressionable dolls as they took in the scene. Her mother sat pensive on the edge of the sedan, as if ready to spring forwards. While her aunt was turned to guard the children.

Rosalnye's confidante, her uncle Aultrig, stood midstride to intercept, but all too late. A leather-faced, weather-worn adventurer sort, who never failed to inspire the family, he had been the focus of the preceding seconds before the strike. Too late to prevent his brother-in-laws wrath, Aultrig's usual charming, bright smile had stripped back into one of horror and guilt.

Knowing she had to move, she took a breath, brushed back her dark red hair and glanced at her father briefly. He was a powerful man. Tall, broad shouldered, statuesque. Almost always dressed in his officer's uniform with a weighty cape and mantle of medals, his moustache perfectly curated and silver hair trimmed back. A personification of resilience and decisiveness to those at the summit. A man upon whose shoulders the lands of Eymier were carried. But the heroic visage as saviour of nations stripped back the moment he struck her.

She now saw him as a man at the end of his tether. overburdened by the responsibility of keeping the nations together as they navigated a post-war depression. The valiant veneer he had projected was beginning to crack, that this once unmoveable object was beginning to chip and break in face of far greater forces.

She climbed to her feet, and gently brushed off her gown and cleared her throat. For a moment she stared ahead, deciding what to do. Her mother watched with a forlorn look. Her uncle was frozen in place, his eyes darting between father and daughter. Her father simply waited for her to make her move. She took a deep breath, lifting her head and then turned and left the auditorium. Her mother glanced turned to her aunt, who eyed Heinrich bitterly. Her uncle Aultrig withdraw into himself as he considered his place in their family. He looked to Heinrich, who returned a firry, almost jealous glower.

This was not the first time Rosalyne had disagreed with her father. Over the past years she'd thrown herself into learning the politics and history of Eymier, knowing full well her status as eldest daughter of the Guildmaster cast her under a spotlight. She had sought to learn all she could and commit herself to the bettering of all the nations of Eymier during these dark times, starting with her home city, Langsine. With culture inherent of an old, failed empire, the office of governor was not deemed right for a young lady, and yet her mild mannerisms and gentle nature coupled with her knowledge and zeal had proven their worth time and time again.

While Heinrich had been focused on keeping the nations of Eymier together, keeping them all safe, her wanderlusting uncle Aultrig had taken up the more personable aspects of fatherhood, inspiring and cheering on Heinrich's own brood under his nose. This was at the core of the bitter argument that preceded the slap, and the rare show of emotions from her father.