The next day, in their class, Master George began with his reason for making all the Fourth Years give up spice for a month. But it was so simple a reason that Alexandra almost felt betrayed. Had it been something like - "this was the gravest situation of life you can ever live" - or had their teacher praised them with something like - "you are all the greatest students to ever pass through this Espionage!" It would have been better.
But it was not.
It was utter folly to even imagine Master George doing that. He would just as well tell them how they were the worst batch of students - a pile of garbage who deserved to adorn the wastelands of Idgard. Consequently, none of them expected any positive remarks.
He began normally - that is - seriously, 'how many of you felt tempted to break the task?' He asked.
All seven hands went up, because they did know lying could result in a dreadful session of scrutiny. The teacher nodded grimly, 'And how many of you - broke it? Actually broke it - for I have not forgotten about the punishment we'd decided upon.'
Alexandra thought it was a little foolish to mention the punishment. The simple statement highlighted the necessity of lying - and she was very sure it was a lie when none of the hands went up.
'Well, if that's true...' their teacher ventured, tilting his head in morose acknowledgment and pronouncing the word like it took him a lot of effort to do so, 'good. But if it's untrue. You will have to work harder - a lot harder. My point in making you people do this - was to show you how hard it is to control the tongue. The tongue is the most difficult sense organ to control - be it in eating, or in speaking. You always want to do a bit more, eat a bit more, speak a bit more. And only after having done it, you realize how foolish it was to have listened to your tongue. And that, students, is what you practice this year. Controlling how much you give-away. Your answers should be fulfilling without being compromising. Nobody can teach you that, students, if you don't have the will to do it. We shall try our best, but if you are not willing, mark my words: this year will be useless for you! Besides,' He continued, not letting them ponder for long, 'let us begin with something simple - but serious.'
They stared at him, all mute. That was the teacher's cue to continue.
'Lie. You all now, must lie to me. A single lie. Any lie. Not necessarily one which I know of - and - it must sound as real as possible. Think of the emotion you associate with it. Believe it to be true, for a while. Even you should believe, for a moment, that it is true. You get me?' He asked.
They assured they did - everybody thinking of a suitable lie which they could pile up. Maybe she could say "I am Dovish", but if anybody argued that it wasn't a lie, she would have to pull out her dagger and deal with them the hard way. Maybe she could say "I hate all of you present here" but if she said that too realistically, a wrong message would go forth. Maybe she could say "I've given my heart to somebody" but the same thing applied here - if she said that too realistically, the worst message would go forth.
Then what am I supposed to sa-
'Mabel.' The teacher called over. She turned to look at him, scandalized at being called first, but the expression melted away at finding Master George at close quarters. He stared into her eyes as though he had to read her mind.
She gulped once - and blurted out the first time which came to her mind. 'I - am a Princess.'
Did it qualify as a complete lie? Because perhaps it didn't. The lingering silence meant that she had said it a little too well.
'Repeat that.' He ordered, stepping away. 'Repeat that in the same manner.'
'I,' Alexandra replied, terrified at the prospect of suspicion. 'Am a princess.'
Master George glared at her for a second. 'Are you sure that is a lie?' He questioned, a hand reaching his chin, like it always did when he was thinking hard. The sentence made her feel light-headed with panic. She could have said anything - but she had to be a bigmouth and nudge her toe out of the line.
She took a deep breath. There was no way he could know. There was no way anybody could know - and if they did, Liam had to start counting his days. Alexandra plastered a cheery smile to her face. She gave a weak chuckle.
'How can it be otherwise, Master George? I am no princess - do I look like one to you?' She asked. It was best if she made the teacher answer his own question, to remove the sapling of doubt in his head before it grew into a tree. A flowering tree that could spread its pollen to others' heads.
'Ask me to be honest about it - and I will say yes. But ask me to be practical - and I will say no.' He replied, dipping her in panic once again. Did he mean to say that she looked like a princess? Half the people at Doveland didn't think so, four years back - when she had been one. And now, all of a sudden, when she was supposed to be a runaway rogue - somebody was telling her "yes, honestly you do look like a princess."
At least he still considered it practically impossible. Master George was a practical man - he went with his brain.
'But alright, that was a commendable way to lie - I may go so far as to say - that you did fool me, with it.' He accepted. And she heaved a sigh of relief, a sudden weight rolled off her - Alexandra didn't need more trouble.
Master George moved on to the next person. At the end of the class, he declared all of them as "liars and cheats". It was little tough to know for sure if the declaration was a praise or just an utterance of his heartfelt opinion of them.
'As a reminded, you all shall also proceed with combat training this year - so that your skills remain agile and don't catch rust. Mabel,' He then suddenly turned to Alexandra. By now, his gaze didn't frighten her. It had become a scary need: if she wouldn't see it for a day, something would feel missing.
'Yes - sir?' She asked, still hoping this wasn't time for another demo.
'Do you have any family member? Any blood relatives?' He shot at her.
'Why?' Alexandra demanded, panic catching her jaw. After the last ordeal, panic had seemed to risen from its original habitat at the pit of her stomach, to her diaphragm. It was sitting there, calmly, waiting to rise up to her neck as soon as the need arose. First Princess - now blood relative - nobody had come to claim her, had they?
Master George looked at her for a second, he then said. 'You are twenty, girl.' As if that explained everything under the sun. She gave him a bored expression that said, you think I don't know? but remembering that it was the Master and not Watson or Kane, she wiped off the look hurriedly. And instead, replied with -
'Ye-es sir, I know that...'
'But you don't seem to know the law,' he continued, shaking his head. 'Blood relatives can get proposals for you - if you have a brother, or a father, or a mother - they can even fix your marriage tomorrow and neither I, nor you, shall have any right to oppose it.'
Alexandra did know that law. And it angered her to some extent - did life only mean marriage and settlement? No adventure? No love? No friendships? And even upon that, why wasn't anyone - Liam, to be more particular - changing it?
This was not the first time she was thinking on these lines. Earlier too, she had - and she had come upon the conclusion that maybe he couldn't. That there would be a civil unrest if he did. Men, even women who were mothers, or grandmothers - they would never accept that they couldn't fix their daughters' marriage of their own free will. Such huge cultural changes would have to be done slowly - steadily, yes - but slowly...
'Sir, I know that law,' she told to the Master. 'But, yes. I have no blood relatives. None that are alive,' she continued, adding for me under her breath.
'That's good. Because Agents,' Master George turned to everybody, not quite realizing that he had just said Alexandra having no blood relatives was good. 'None of you have permission to marry or raise a family until you are thirty two. And we shall have no amendment in that rule for a female, you get that, Mabel?'
She nodded. And there was silence half a minute, then-
'NO wonder, Henry's not gone after Ashley already.' Gergs swore out loud. Slowly all of them started laughing, given the way they'd seen Henry.
'He must have written a million letters already!' Hans shook his head, almost falling over Paul, laughing. Everybody cheered in agreement. Alexandra shook her head and smiled broadly, she knew it wasn't funny, but watching those men go about falling over in torrents of laughter, ruined all the seriousness. In fact, they didn't know he had broken up - they didn't know Ashley wouldn't be their sister-in-law, ever. She had just opened her mouth to make a comment herself when -
'It is not funny, Fourth Years!' Master George interrupted, surprising them. 'It is NOT.' He repeated, as the laughter died down completely. In the silence that followed, he showed no signs of relenting. 'Someday - if you feel that merciless pang of longing in your hearts, for someone you didn't even know, till the last day - then, you shall realize what a sacrifice it is. How much willpower, how much of mental and emotional strength is needed to do what your senior is doing!' And he turned, his cloak twirling behind him and walked off.
They watched him go for a minute, nobody trusting themselves to speak.
'What was that, Captain?' Watson asked, turning to Alexandra, instinctively the rest of the boys turned to her, too. She did know what it was - and it surprised her, too.
'It was,' she informed, quite slowly, so that she made no mistake. 'It was proof that our Master has felt the merciless pang in his heart.'
***
Finally Alexandra knew what she'd call her Dagger. It was too much of a trouble to keep addressing it as "dagger" and "knife". No, this was the weapon she was going to prize all her life. She was already very sure that daggers were female. Swords could be, and were, males. Bigger in size, rather harmful, and straightforward. But daggers were female, yes. Smaller, less harmful. But sneakier and more difficult to escape: could be used in kitchens, or in battles, equally well.
Moira.
She would call her Moira.
Such a calming, yet powerful name. At night, she'd lain in bed and thought about it. When "Moira" finally occurred to her, she said it aloud, in the dark, turning the glinting blade in her hand.
'Moira.' She uttered. And, it must have been her imagination, but the dagger flashed a bit brighter. Perhaps it was her imagination, but that was the moment from which, the name stuck on. She repeated it a few more times. And she wondered if naming a dagger felt so significant and momentous, what would naming a child - a real human, who would grow up to introduce himself or herself as that - would feel like.
'Well, give me a girl to name and I'll name her Ophelia.' She declared to the dark, stuffing the dagger under her pillow and muttering, 'goodnight, Moira,' with a smirk, turning her head to sleep.
Alexandra hated one part about nightmares. They didn't inform in advance of their arrival. If only, those dreams were a bit more considerate...
She dreamt she was back in the Doveland Garden. Nicholas stood in front of her, his mouth working the same way it had when it he'd been saying his final words to Alexandra. But no voice was coming out, she couldn't hear him in the dream. And yet, when the time for it arrive, she raised her hand and smacked him across. She watched as he hit the ground - the scene flashed to Rose pulling her away from him - Aunt Sabel collecting him in her arms. There was no sound in her dream, even at this point. Aunt Sabel's mouth worked - calling her a witch. She was in the court - the minister passed the scroll to King Adelard - the guards were pulling her - they flung her down the steps.
Her stomach jerked as she fell in the dream. Alexandra jolted awake, her eyes flying open as a single, tiny bead of sweat traced down the side of nose. Dim, morning sunshine filtered through the window pane, and her throat was parched.
She looked around blearily, sitting up. This was almost the fiftieth time the dream was here. The very first time, it had made her cry - and then, it had become a normal occurrence. And the memory had been pushed to the periphery of her mind as more important things cluttered it. And yet, why was it revisiting her time and again? Was there something she was supposed to notice?
If so, what?
What could she notice? If there was something to observe, she would have done it earlier, the scene was hers - she had lived it - she had seen it. What else could be said?
Where is the heart? Where are the lungs? Mind demanded, forcibly. Alexandra's face contorted into a frown. What sort of a question was that?
Don't you get it, idiot? All signs of life are shown in the chest!
On the nail. Mind had hit it on the nail.
Aunt Sabel had hugged her son... if there had been any signs of life in him, she would have registered them. Yet, Alexandra shook her head. Practicality got the better of her - when not even twenty four hours ago, she had seen the perfect example of the fact that things could be beyond practicality. For then, she considered it an impossible idea. She coerced that Aunt Sabel was a lot of things... but the idea that she would presented her own son as dead to everybody...
Alexandra considered it a little too farfetched.
Guys (and gals, or Alexandra will have my blood), "Moira" is the Greek term for a person's fate or destiny. Alexandra surely doesn't know that - but it IS her destiny, her fate. The dagger, the council, the exile, it's all her fate.
Did that get a little heavy? I guess it did - I really do.
Thank you so much for reading on till here. If you like the story, do vote and comment - and share on!