Act 1 Scene 5: Davenant House

The gallery is long and opulent, lined with portraits of stern-faced Davenant ancestors. The marble floors gleam, reflecting the torchlight from sconces. Servants hurry back and forth, carrying trays of food and wine, their movements betraying the frantic energy of the final preparations for the feast. LIORA stands at one end of the gallery, a vision in her silver-threaded velvet gown. Her hair is intricately styled, her face a pale, perfect mask. LADY VIOLA DAVENANT circles her daughter like a hawk inspecting its prey.

LADY VIOLA

Stand straighter, Liora. Your posture must speak of pride, not apology. The Hartwells carry themselves like brawling merchants; we carry ourselves like royalty. Let your bearing be a rebuke to their entire line.

LIORA

(Her voice is low and even, devoid of emotion)

Yes, Mother.

LADY VIOLA

And you must smile. Not a wide, witless grin, but a subtle curve of the lips. It should suggest you know a secret that delights you. Men find that intriguing. It suggests value. Remember, your face tonight is a map of our family's honour. Do not allow a single frown to betray its borders.

LIORA

I will endeavor to be… intriguing.

LADY VIOLA

(Stops and adjusts a fold in Liora's gown)

Good. Your father and Lord Thorne are concluding their business in the study. We will go to them shortly. Alaric is a man of immense standing, Liora. He sees the world as it is: a game of power. He does not suffer fools or sentimental girls. You must show him you are a worthy partner in his ascent, not a weight to be carried.

LIORA

A partner. Is that what I am to be?

LADY VIOLA

You are to be his wife. It is the most powerful partnership a woman can have. Now, come. It is time.

Lady Viola gestures for Liora to follow. They walk down the long gallery, their footsteps echoing softly on the marble. As they approach a large, ornate oak door at the far end—the entrance to GIDEON's private study—the booming sound of men's voices can be heard from within. The door is slightly ajar.

GIDEON DAVENANT (From within the study)

…and so the shipping contracts from the Southern Isles will be redirected through Thorne Maritime exclusively. The Hartwell vessels can rot in the harbor for all I care. This union will give us a stranglehold on the city's trade.

ALARIC THORNE (From within, his voice smooth and confident)

A masterful stroke, my lord. It is precisely this kind of bold foresight that drew me to this alliance. You build empires with iron will, not with sentimental hand-wringing.

Lady Viola holds up a hand, stopping Liora just before they reach the door. She puts a finger to her lips, a conspiratorial glint in her eye, as if to say, 'Listen to this. Listen to how important you are.'

GIDEON

And the girl—my Liora—she is the linchpin. The public face of this new dynasty. Her pedigree is flawless, her beauty undeniable. An unblemished asset. I have raised her to be disciplined, intelligent. She has a fire in her, I grant you, but it is a fire I have kept banked. She will not be a foolish, simpering bride.

ALARIC

(A low chuckle)

Excellent. I have no patience for weakness in a woman. I have heard tell of her spirit. A fine falcon must be properly hooded and trained to the lure, Lord Gideon. Her fire, as you call it, will be a useful tool once it is directed by my will. It will make our children strong. It will make other men envy me, and envy is a currency all its own.

Outside the door, Liora stands frozen. The colour has drained from her face. Every word from within the study is a physical blow. Her mother, misinterpreting her stillness for awe, gives a faint, satisfied nod.

GIDEON

She understands duty. I have made certain of it. She may have her girlish fantasies, but they will wither soon enough when faced with the reality of her position. She will be Queen of this city, in all but name. That should be compensation enough for any romantic notions.

ALARIC

It will be. A woman's happiness is found in her husband's station and the security he provides. She will learn that truth. And as for her person… you have raised a diamond, my lord. And I am a man who knows how to appreciate a fine jewel—how to set it, how to display it, and how to keep it safe in my vault.

Liora closes her eyes. The image of the bird from her dream flashes through her mind—the free, soaring swift. Then, the image of a falcon, hooded and chained to a man's fist. When she opens her eyes again, the last vestige of girlish softness is gone. Her expression is unnervingly calm, her posture perfect. Her spine has become a rod of iron.

LADY VIOLA

(Whispering)

You see, child? You are valued. A jewel. A queen.

Liora does not respond. At that moment, the oak door swings open. GIDEON DAVENANT stands there, his broad chest puffed with pride. Beside him is ALARIC THORNE, a handsome, sharp-featured man with eyes as cool and grey as a winter sea. He is smiling, but the smile does not warm his face.

GIDEON

Ah, here she is! My lady Viola. And my Liora. Come in, come in. Lord Thorne, may I present my daughter, Liora Davenant.

Alaric's eyes sweep over Liora, a flicker of genuine appreciation mixed with the cool appraisal of a buyer. He takes a step forward and bows, a gesture of practiced, impeccable charm.

ALARIC THORNE

Lady Liora. Your likeness on the city's walls, though fair, proves a pale shadow to the living truth. It is an honour.

He holds out his hand, expecting her to place hers in it. Liora looks from his hand to his face. She performs a curtsey so deep and so graceful it is a work of art. It is an act of perfect, flawless obedience.

LIORA

(Her voice is like chimes of ice. It is exquisitely polite, yet utterly devoid of warmth.)

My Lord Thorne. You speak with great… clarity. It is a rare and admirable quality in a man. I am certain my father has found a true partner in you.

She rises, her eyes meeting his directly. She offers him a small, perfect smile that does not reach her eyes. It is the exact smile her mother ordered—the one that suggests a secret. The secret, however, is not one of delight, but of a newfound and terrible resolve.

Alaric, hearing only the compliment and seeing only the beauty, beams. Gideon claps him on the shoulder, roaring with laughter, completely oblivious.

GIDEON

Ha! What did I tell you? Spirit and discipline! The perfect combination! She is ready to be a Thorne!

Liora maintains her smile, a beautiful, silent statue at the center of the conspiracy. She has played her part perfectly, just as she promised Marta she would. But she is no longer merely an unwilling bride. She is an enemy hiding in plain sight.