Private Beautiful Rocks

[Mara Aurelai]

Luna Mine, Harterra

Mara wrinkled her nose as she opened the door of her speeder. The air outside reeked of sulfur and other minerals, creating a noxious cloud just outside the entrance to the mine. Her expression only grew more disgusted as she took her first few steps on the muddy ground. She had dressed for the locale, trading her Hapan gowns for a more practical getup, but still. Her boots were expensive.

Arlessa should be arriving any minute in her own speeder. Relations had cooled between them since Secciah’s funeral, but Mara took it as a good sign that Arlessa had requested she join her as they toured the famous Luna Mine, where most of Harterra’s precious moonstones were harvested. Moonstones had long been the source of House Khal’s wealth—and according to Mara’s spies, it might soon become their ruin.

The Queen Mother had recently asserted that Harterra’s moonstones were now a “strategic resource of the Consortium” rather than a provincial asset. Arlessa was expected to increase exports to the royal court at reduced “tribute rates”. If she complied with the Queen’s demands, she risked bankruptcy. If she refused, she might be labeled as disloyal to the crown—or worse.

Whatever decision Arlessa made, it would have consequences not only for the future of her family, but for Harterra’s economy as a whole. The miners who labored would be affected, as would everyone else who profited from those beautiful rocks. It would suit Mara's purposes to destabilize Arlessa's reign, of course, but she wasn't sure if the fallout would be worth it.

Arlessa Khal​

 

[Arlessa Khal]

Arlessa did not arrive loudly. The low hum of her speeder cut through the sulfur-laden air only briefly before it settled into stillness, the engine powering down with quiet efficiency rather than announcement. When the door opened, she stepped out without hesitation. Her movements were both unhurried and precise; as though the environment had already been accounted for before she ever set foot within it. The air was no less acrid to her. She just simply did not react to it. Her attire, like Mara’s, had been adjusted for practicality. But where Mara’s adaptation still carried the imprint of preference; Arlessa’s bore only intention. Nothing extraneous. Nothing that could not endure the conditions it had been brought into.

Her gaze lifted almost immediately, not to the mine, but to Mara. She took her in fully. The stance. The tension in her posture. The faint displeasure that had not entirely left her expression. It was well noted. “Lady Mara,” Arlessa greeted, her tone even, carrying neither warmth nor distance, only acknowledgment. She closed the space between them at a measured pace, her attention briefly shifting past her toward the mouth of the mine, where the haze of minerals lingered like a veil over something deeper. “It is not a forgiving place,” she said, though whether she referred to the terrain or the circumstances surrounding it was left deliberately unclear.

A faint pause followed as she came to stand beside her. Not ahead, not behind. But equal footing. At least in appearance. “The Luna Mine has sustained Harterra for generations,” Arlessa continued, her gaze now resting on the darkened entrance. “It has also endured every attempt to control it.” There was no emphasis placed on the statement. It did not need it.

Only then did she glance toward Mara again, more directly this time. “I trust your journey here was uneventful.” It was a simple question. On the surface. But her attention lingered just a fraction too long. Not on Mara’s words, but on the space around them. On the subtle undercurrents that had become far more difficult to ignore since their last meeting. The absence she had noted before, she did not expect it to have changed. And yet, she looked. Not searching blindly. But testing. “Shall we?” Arlessa gestured lightly toward the mine’s entrance, though she did not move just yet. “There is much here worth understanding, before conclusions are drawn about what it should become.” Again her response was layered. The mine. The Queen’s demand. Mara herself. This was not an invitation. It was positioning. And this time, Arlessa would not simply observe. She would learn.

Tag: Mara Aurelai