The room is lavishly appointed, but heavy damask curtains block out most of the morning light. A shaft of sun cuts through a gap, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. LIORA DAVENANT lies asleep in a grand four-poster bed, tangled in sheets of rich, dark blue silk. Enter MARTA HALE, her face already flushed with exasperation. She carries a heavy gown of embroidered velvet over one arm.
MARTA
What, Liora! Ho, Liora! Lamb! Ladybird! God forbid, where's this girl? Why, wench! Are you determined to sleep until your wedding day, and then sleep through that as well? The sun has been up these three hours, the cooks are in a fury, your father has already paced a trench in the gallery floor, and you lie here like a statue on a sarcophagus! Liora!
Marta bustles over to the bed and shakes Liora's shoulder. Liora groans and burrows deeper into the pillows.
LIORA
(Muffled by silk)
Let be, Marta. The sun is an intruder. Let him keep his hours, and I shall keep mine.
MARTA
His hours are the world's hours! And today, the world comes to this house. Do you forget? The feast! The great masquerade! The most important night of your life, and you choose to dream it away. By my bones, child, up! You cannot greet Lord Thorne smelling of sleep and sorrow.
LIORA
(Turning over, her eyes still closed)
Then let him greet my pillow. It is softer than my humour and will offer him a warmer welcome. Pray, tell my father I am taken with a fever. A sudden pox. A wasting sickness.
MARTA
(Throwing the curtains wide open with a great heave. Light floods the room.)
You are taken with a wasting stubbornness, is what you are taken with! Look at you! Dressed in silks finer than a queen's, with a bed stuffed with goose down and a future paved in gold, and you pout like a milkmaid who's spilt her pail. Up! Up, I say! Or I shall fetch a bucket of cold water and baptize you into the waking world myself!
Liora sits up slowly, blinking against the sudden brightness. Her hair is a dark cascade against the pale silk of her nightgown. She looks weary, far older than her years.
LIORA
Why do you shout so? Your voice is a bell that cracks the very air. I was having such a pleasant dream.
MARTA
A dream? What good are dreams? They pay no debts and secure no alliances. This—(She shakes the velvet gown)—this is reality. Your lady mother picked the cloth herself. Feel it. Woven with silver thread. You will look like a constellation come to earth. The noble Alaric Thorne will not be able to take his eyes from you.
LIORA
(Ignoring the gown, her gaze distant)
I dreamt I was a bird, Marta. Not a caged nightingale, but a swift. I flew from the city walls and over the sycamore grove, and the air was so clean it tasted of freedom. I did not have to think of fathers, or feasts, or… men with strategic smiles.
MARTA
(Her tone softening slightly, as she lays the gown on a chair)
Child, child. Such thoughts are a poison. Your father, Lord Gideon, he does what he thinks is best. Alaric Thorne is a fine match. He is wealthy, powerful, well-regarded by the Mayor. He will give you a place of honour. He will give you security.
LIORA
He will give me a cage, Marta, only with more gilded bars. You speak of security. I am secure enough in this room, yet I feel I am in a prison. You speak of honour. What honour is there in being a token, a piece of property traded to seal a bargain?
MARTA
It is the way of the world, for folk such as us! Love is a luxury for poets and paupers. For the great houses, marriage is business. It is duty. You have a duty to your name, to your father.
LIORA
(Swinging her legs out of bed, her feet landing silently on the cold floor. Her voice drops, losing its dreamy quality and gaining a sharp, steely edge.)
And does my father have no duty to his daughter's heart? He has not asked me what I wish, not once. He has presented this… this Alaric Thorne… as if he were a deed to a new property. He commands me to be charmed. He instructs me to be happy.
MARTA
Then you must learn the part! A woman's strength, Liora, is often in her cleverness. You may not choose the ship, but you can learn to steer its course once you are aboard. Smile, be gracious. Win your husband's favour. That is where your power will lie.
LIORA
(She stands and walks to the window, looking down at the bustling courtyard below. Her back is to Marta.)
I will not have him.
MARTA
(Freezing mid-motion)
What… what did you say? Speak again. My ears are old, they must be playing tricks.
LIORA
(Turning around, her eyes clear and defiant)
You heard me well enough. Then I must tell my father I'll not have him.
This Alaric Thorne, this gilded stranger they praise,
Whose worth is measured only by his lands,
Whose heart is but a ledger for his wealth—
I would sooner wed the cold, unyielding stone
Of my own tomb than give my hand to him.
MARTA
(Rushing forward and grabbing Liora's arms, her voice now a panicked whisper)
Hush! Hush, you foolish, reckless girl! Do you want to be ruined? Do you want to bring your father's wrath down upon this house like the wrath of God? He would lock you in a tower! He would disown you! He is a hard man, Liora, you know this! You cannot speak such words!
LIORA
Then what am I to do? Live a lie for fifty years? Bear children for a man whose touch would make my skin crawl? Smile at feasts while my soul starves within me? Is that the duty you speak of? Is that the grand fate of Liora Davenant?
MARTA
(Her grip tightening, her eyes pleading)
For tonight… just for tonight, I beg you. Put on the gown. Wear the mask. Let him be charmed by your beauty. Let your father have his moment of pride. Survive tonight. We can… we can think on the morrow. But do not start a war you cannot win, not today. Please, my lamb. For me. Do not break this old heart that loves you.
Liora looks at Marta's terrified face, the genuine fear and love warring in her eyes. The fire in Liora's own gaze softens, replaced by a profound, aching sadness. She gives a slow, almost imperceptible nod.
LIORA
Very well, Marta. For you. I will play the part. I will be the dutiful daughter. I will wear the gown and the mask.
But know this. A mask may hide my face, but it cannot change my heart.
Marta lets out a shaky breath, a sob of pure relief, and pulls Liora into a fierce, desperate hug.
MARTA
That's my brave girl. That's my clever, brave girl. Now, come. Let us make you ready. Let us show them all what a diamond the House of Davenant possesses.
Marta releases her and turns to the magnificent gown, her hands trembling slightly as she lifts it. Liora remains standing by the window, a silent, beautiful statue, already placing a mask of obedience over her rebellious spirit.