Elric believed it was a good thing she couldn’t remember much because the more she remembered, the more she might have struggled to find contentment in her new life.
It didn’t bother her. Not really. Part of her wished she could at least remember her family, but she also knew having little memory might be a gift. She didn’t want to dwell upon what might have been. It was hard enough dealing with what she was.
Because she wasn’t from the capital city of Matherin.
She wasn’t from Aleron at all.
No, in the end, she wasn’t overly sad about missing those memories. It would have only made life harder.
Vera knew she was lucky. She’d turned twenty that year, meaning it’d been about fifteen years since she became the ward of Elric Lesta, the Weapon’s Master for Emperor Sulian Matheris.
Elric trained the Matherin city guards and inspected weapons before they were shipped to other parts of Aleron. He was a stern man and highly respected.
Fifteen years ago, a messenger had knocked on his door carrying a letter and a tiny Vera in tow. According to Elric, it was common for orphaned children to be given as wards throughout the city to provide free labor while also decreasing the orphanage population. But although common, Elric had never expected to be chosen for one.
It didn’t take long for him to discover, not only was she not a Matherin orphan, she wasn’t a human one either. To this day, she didn’t know why he’d chosen to keep her, but she would never stop being grateful for everything he’d given her.
Vera couldn’t recall her journey to the capital. Part of her wondered if she were even conscious for it. But Elric had told her the story enough times she felt like she could almost remember their first meeting.
He said she’d refused to talk for weeks but would quietly listen and follow orders. She often flinched at sudden noises and cringed away from the blades to the point that he considered sending her away. Until one day, he swore she woke up with fire in her eyes and a silent, stubborn determination to help him around the workroom.
It was about three days later when she’d finally whispered, “I’m Veralie,” while cleaning the worktable next to him.
He’d simply replied, “You look more like a Vera to me,” and she’d gone by that ever since.
As a female ward, she’d only been expected to do basic servant duties, but when she’d expressed an interest in assisting with the weapons, he’d agreed to teach her. Elric had never admitted it, but Vera had a feeling he’d simply been eager to share his love of weapons with someone, regardless of her sex.
She’d been learning and working with swords for several years when she began sneaking out in the mornings to watch him go through his morning exercises. He’d been a sight to see. His movements had spoken to her in a way she couldn’t explain. All she knew was that she wanted to learn it too.
He’d been furious the first time he caught her. “It is unseemly for a girl to witness anything related to battle,” he’d said gruffly. He’d made her lay her hands flush against the table and smacked the flat of a sparring sword down on her fingers—his typical punishment for disobedience.
But she would not be deterred, and the next morning, she’d tiptoed out to watch him again. Of course, he’d caught her.
“This is not something I am allowed to teach you, girl. Stop dallying and get back inside.”
Still, she persisted. She couldn’t explain why, but her desire to learn how to wield a weapon was so strong, so deeply ingrained, she couldn’t fight against it.
She refused to give up until finally, Elric didn’t bother yelling. He’d simply looked at her for a long moment before turning around and saying, “Grab a sword.”
It’d been over ten years, and she still loved it as much as she had that first day. But sparring with Elric each day, year after year, was no longer providing her with the same thrill or challenge.
What she would give to be allowed to train with the other guards—young men with both strength and stamina. She wanted to spar with someone who would push her limits and allow her to truly test her skills.
But she had to accept reality. Women in the capital were not allowed to join the guard or wield a weapon. A fact that grated against her nerves every time she thought about it. Anyone should be allowed to learn self-defense, but even her working with the weapons was seen as taboo.
The guards were used to seeing her around, although Elric rarely allowed her out when they were present. Most chose to ignore her existence, but some sneered anytime they saw her handling the swords.
She hated it, but she couldn’t judge them too harshly for it. They’d been raised to find such behavior improper, with her being the only evidence trying to prove otherwise.
Coming out of her thoughts, Vera turned and continued through the workroom. Attached to the far back of the armory were their living quarters—one small bedroom and a main room barely big enough for a basic kitchen, a bathing tub, and a table.
Elric had eventually given her the bedroom and set up a cot for himself squeezed in next to the simple hearth.
She eyed the tub in the corner longingly, wishing she had time for a real bath. Instead, she headed to the wash basin she kept next to her bed. Filling it with fresh water, she splashed her face, clenching her teeth to avoid gasping at the sharp bite of the cold. She patted her face dry and looked up into the scratched mirror hung on her wall.
No wonder she’d bested Elric today. Her appearance alone probably terrified the poor man. She looked haggard. Some of her dark curls had even escaped and were sticking out all around her head like coiled serpents.
She grimaced at the sight. Sometimes she questioned whether she was even meant to be a woman. She felt like a woman, she just rarely looked like one—at least compared to the few Matherin women she’d seen. There wasn’t a single thing dainty or soft about her. Reaching back to battle her curls into a tight plait, she scowled at her reflection.
Her eyes were a dull gray color, and her small nose was covered in freckles and somewhat crooked from one too many hits to the face. She had full lips that were often cracked or swollen, and her chin pointed out slightly, accentuating her heart-shaped face.
Vera finished her plait and tucked it down the back of her plain, gray tunic. She’d often considered cutting her hair since she constantly kept it tied back anyway, but she always talked herself out of it. It was the only feature she had that she thought was beautiful.
It also helped that the thick curls at least somewhat covered her ears. She glanced at them, running her fingers over the scars along the tops before pulling a few brown curls loose in front of them.