Mandolin. Corrupt. Turquoise

I asked my Tweetpeeps to help me meet my NaNoWriMo goals for the day by giving me prompts.

Here is what I wrote based on Nadia Halim‘s words:

The palace was lovely though much too cool for Fuleia’s liking. The opulence of the space seemed contrived. As if the nobility had travelled and studied the taste of their betters and tried to produce a cheap imitation. It was almost pathetic to behold.

A small girl sat in a corner, almost lost in the folds of of the heavy curtains and tapestries. She plucked at a beautiful mandolin engraved with small blossoms. The melody carried well in the vast hall. Fuleia made a note to have the girl properly trained when such decisions were hers to make.

Her escort stopped abruptly and bowed low at the oncoming retinue.

She should have bowed as well. Every rule of diplomacy and decency demanded it. But Fuleia could only manage a slight inclination of her head at the man who was so obviously beneath her.

The Letian king was a slight man with over-large eyes and a permanent snarl. It was said he coveted everything in his sight. Fuleia would say he amassed his possession on his person. His back was bowed under the weight of the jewels and furs. His crown perch precariously on his shaved head, set askew by the large turquoise pendant hanging from the centre. It was a wonder the old man had not already collapsed.

“What’s this? The haughty princess of the Vintu tribes come to pay hommage to me?” His laugh degenerated into a repulsive cough. “Go on, then! I accept your offerings of praise and adoration–”

“Do not flatter yourself, you low corrupt creature.” No. That was most definitely not a diplomatic thing to say. But it was too late to worry about that. Fuleia raised her chin and looked down at him from her full height. “I’ve come to see your son.”


1 comment for “Mandolin. Corrupt. Turquoise

  1. The Voice of Reason
    November 13, 2013 at 10:48 pm

    Here’s hoping his son ain’t got TB as well…

Join the conversation!