Liya da Covilhã

         phillipa barked a laugh. that— now, that was something amusing. “indeed, a child, any child, is honest, brutally so, until they are taught otherwise.” a lingering chuckle. this woman had a strange sort of honestly about her. it intrigued phillipa— and she had never been one to shy away from questions; either asking or answering them. it was a childhood trait, and it had grown with her, though tainted with cynicism as she aged.

         “i would suppose common supersition would say that daughters take after their fathers, and sons their mothers—” a glance backwards at her son, now attempting to take the largest bite of an apple his small mouth could manage— “but i would argue my son inherited equal amounts of his personality from both of us. my daughters, though…they take after their grandmothers, as far as i can tell.” phillipa turned back to the woman. “i am phillipa, lady dorset. are you newly arrived to england, madame?”

The world always took what was good about children and turn them into something else. Her brother was turned into a weapon and told to find peace. She was turned into a spy and told to find a home. She didn’t know how Carlos felt about it, but she held no love for her parents for their teachings - but, she did love them. She just wished she didn’t. Unlike her love for Carlos, her love for them was complicated. “I hope you won’t teach them otherwise. Honesty is something the world needs more of.” 

“My people - my mother’s people, we tend to think daughters take after their mothers, and sons after their fathers. But I think you’re right. Children take pieces of everyone that came before, and make themselves into a whole new person.” Was that what she’d done? She was as clever with words as her father, as sly as her mother. It was an interesting thought. “Indeed I am, my lady. I am Liya da Covilhã, lady of Ethiopia and Portugal.” Her father, despite being a member of the Portuguese nobility once, was now a governor in Ethiopia, giving her a precarious position of power while still always being a prisoner. 

“I think you may have a point. Many of them could gain much from even a day of study, but I think that interests them all very little.” Juan couldn’t help but let his smile widen, bemused at the lady’s point as he stepped fully into the room. She was easier to observe as he came closer - a warm beauty about her, and yet something curious in her eyes that he couldn’t quite place.

“Ah - my lady, it is a pleasure.” He took her hand in warm greeting, bowing his head. “I should think your brother and I may soon work in the same circles - for I am the envoy of His Majesty the Holy Roman Emperor, for just over two years.” He tilted his head, taking her in, though his curiosity got the better of him. “If you will permit me - I do not think I know Ethiopia. I would be delighted to hear more about it, if you might have the time to have a cup of wine and some conversation.”

“Mhmm, yes. My father encouraged my brother and I to read no less than ten pages of something every day. It’s a practice I have yet to break.” Her education, in many ways, was unrivaled, which worked out well for a woman who had only two true loves. Her brother and her books. “But if you are in here, my lord, you must like to read as much as I do. It’s lovely to meet a kindred spirit.” 

Although she had lived for years in Portugal, she never quite got used to how easily strangers touched each other. He was a strange man, yet he took her hand as though he was well known to her family. In Ethiopia, that would be considered obscene, but she only responded with the same warmth. “You will like Carlos. It’s impossible not to like Carlos. But I implore you, do not give him anything to drink, he becomes far too reckless.” The affection in her voice was real, speaking of her brother. “I am always happy to educate people about the land of my birth. And to have a drink, as I am not my brother. It is very different though, you may be shocked. For one thing, if my father were not a religious man who took my education in hand himself, I would have been brought up Orthodox.” 

“Ah, well that will be a shame.” Jullian teased, his eyes glinting with mischief. His humor was often bordering inappropriate. It was only half deliberate, the other portion of motive being as clear as it seemed. He liked to get a reaction when he had a chance, it made for a much more interesting conversation. “But I suppose warmth is important as well.” He added with a false sigh of defeat.

Julian’s eyes narrowed with amusement at her comment. He raised the book to wave it in a small gesture, his brows raising slightly. “Oh, this?” He placed it back down with a smile. “Hardly of any importance. I was just attempting to distract myself, actually. Perhaps you can be of some assistance? Of course, only if you aren’t busy, I’d hate to impose.” He smiled warmly at her as if to tempt.

Amused, Liya glanced around as if worried someone would hear her. She was always happy to challenge societal perceptions, whether subtly or pointedly. “If it wasn’t so cold, I’d wear the fashions of my mother’s people. But I don’t know whether I’d freeze first or cause someone to faint. Some of those old lords have weak hearts.” She waved her hand in a little gesture towards her stomach, which would be revealed had she the chance to wear her native dresses. “So much of me would be uncovered. Modesty has different meanings in Ethiopia.” Not that she was supposed to dress like that according to her own religion, although she’d never been able to openly practice Islam. 

Liya had always been the type to be easily amused, mostly because she wanted to be. She liked to laugh at the folly of people, and this man was just another man. He knew he was handsome and charming, which made him dangerous. But Liya had lived her life in danger, and she felt immune to fear now. “I’d be happy to distract you, my lord. Use me however you wish, it’s no imposition.” She believed in mutual benefits. Unlike most respectable women, she didn’t seek out a husband, she sought out lovers. That way, she could have her freedom while enjoying the benefits that life had to offer. 

        phillipa had seen her, circling, as some did when they saw phillipa and thomas cross swords. she had marked the woman’s eagle eye, sharp when she tried to hide it. phillipa now returned the scrutiny, now much more brazen about it. many things marked this woman as a foreigner, the strongest being her rich accent. aragonese, phillipa thought. or perhaps portuguese, and mixed with something else too. it had been some time since she had travelled the continent— she missed it, but it was carefully preserved, like colourful leaves pressed in a book.

         but the woman’s dark, wide eyes were what captured phillipa— entrancing, as if there was something far deeper, darker hidden in them. but for now, they seemed to create a picture of shock on her face. still with one hand clamped on her son’s shoulder, she said, “he’s as hardy as an ox— he takes after his father that way. i swear, sometimes the man felt no pain.” she released her son, nudging him back towards his sisters and nurse, all now watching her. she snorted. “rascals, all three of them.” turning back to the woman, she eyed her with the same sharpness as she did before. “are you a mother, madam?”

She met the scrutiny with a level gaze, not one to try play the innocent maid. No one ever wanted to believe it, so it was far better to play the part of a coy woman, one that was much more believable and closer to the truth. The truth hid lies so much more effectively. “Are you certain he does not take after you? You seemed to know exactly what you were doing. I find myself envying you. I’ve never lifted a sword other than to hand it to my brother.” As always, the thought of Carlos brought a true smile to her lips, although it was no different from every other smile she gave. 

Liya laughed softly, shaking her head. “No, my lady. I am not married, and even for me, it’d be such a scandal to have a child out of wedlock. But I like children. They have such an honest way of looking at the world, it’s rather endearing.” Children deserved to be protected in the way she never had. If she never bore a child, she would accept that grief, as it’d mean that she would not condemn anyone the way she’d been condemned. The prison would end with her. 

“Well, I do not wish to speak for the King or his court, but I think everyone at court is far too self-occupied to mind who uses their books.” Juan had found the space to be a solace of his own. To a degree, court had been a lonely place for the Spaniard in the years since Charles and his retinue had returned home. England had become his home away from home, and he had tried to embrace the parts of the palace that were open to him the way that he had once embraced the royal residences in Valladolid.

Juan stood inside the doorway and offered the woman before him a faint smile, taking her in. “I do not believe I have made your acquaintance, my lady. What is it that brings you to this fair court?”

A light smile rested on her lips at his words. Self-occupied. What a wonderful word to describe court. “If anyone did mind, I’d suggest they perhaps try reading the books themselves.” She’d met some educated fools, but most people who enjoyed reading tended to have some common sense. 

She could tell he wasn’t Portuguese, there was enough of a difference for someone so accustomed to accents, but she was sure he must be out of place in court as she was. People who were different always were. “You definitely have not made my acquaintance, I arrived this past week. I am Liya da Covilhã, my lord. A lady of Portugal and Ethiopia. I accompanied my brother, Carlos, he is a diplomat.” 

Julian closed his book, his posture straightening, hands folding as if to make an illustration of his shift of attention. His landed straight on her face, never wondering to look the rest of her over.

Liya stood out in court, her skin too dark to have been from such a dreary country. It contrasted with the rich dyes of her clothes making her appear more as a painting than a woman. England’s population seemed translucent in comparison, like watching the living walk among the dead. It did her justice. His head tilted to his own thoughts.

“Try not to get use to it.” He offered his advice with a crooked smile. “The bleary cold will find you soon enough.”

His smile spread at her speculation, head tilting slightly toward the side with amusement. “Do I seem so self involved?”

Liya did not waste time feigning shyness as he looked at her. She knew she would never look like the others in court, so she never tried to. Oh, she kept up with the latest fashions, rather than the styles that would be worn in Ethiopia, but everything was always of the boldest cuts, brightest colours. 

If she could not be invisible, she would burn so brightly no one would ever forget her. 

“I shall keep that in mind, my lord, and request more layers added to my skirts.” Playfully, she swished them with a hand, making them rustle. Back home, they did not nearly wear so much. She could remember being a young girl, new to Portugal, and amazed by how much fabric they wasted. Now, she rather enjoyed it. “That’ll keep my legs warm at the least.” 

His question made her laugh, shaking her head lightly. “Not at all.” There was a faint hint of sarcasm, but it was not directed at him, not exactly. All men were the same, at the core of their being. The only one who was any different was her brother. “At least, no more so than any other member of court, myself included. And I’m the very paragon of virtue and modesty.” She gestured to the closed book he’d been holding, speaking with a less sarcastic but still light tone. “No, my lord, you simply seemed so focused that I feel guilty for disturbing you.” 

However, she allowed herself a rare moment of silence and drew away from people today, seeking out the library. No story was ever as good as her father’s, and no education would match the one she’d had, but she still ran her finger over the spines of books. Hearing the door creak open, the smile that was always expected on her face settled into place as she turned around and bowed her head. “It is alright that I am in here, is it not?” Her accent lended more to her native home, although her father’s influence and time in Portugal did impact her skills in English. No matter how hard she tried, her voice and skin always marked her as different, so she had learned to embrace it and dare men to judge her. 

               "What do you fear, lady?" he asked. 

x - The daughter of Pêro da Covilhã and the daughter of an Ethiopian woman, Liya grew up as both a privileged woman and one who feared for her life. Her father was a Portuguese explorer and diplomat sent to both form relationships with Ethiopia and to spy on them. While he was well liked there, given land and titles (Shum Agame), he was also a prisoner of state. Liya spent her childhood with all the advantages of her title, never wanting for anything but freedom. She always knew there was a knife hanging over her head. Rather than be afraid, she shone so brightly that she didn’t fear being forgotten. When she was in her teens, more Portuguese diplomats arrived. Her father arranged for her brother to be sent back with them, officially for his education and with the agreement he would be Ethiopia’s diplomat. Carlos, her brother, insisted that Liya be sent with him.

x - And so she travelled to the land she felt she knew from her father’s stories, only to feel just out of place. Not that she ever showed discomfort, growing up to charm everyone she met with her vivacity. She could still only trust her brother, helping him to share information back with their people. No one suspected the playful lady, after all, even if they might look at her brother with suspicion.

x - With Ethiopia at war, their role became much more serious. Carlos arranged for Portugal to support their homeland, but the war still seems to go against them. Although she bears no love for either land, she didn’t desire to see her brother die in the war, and she knows he wishes to fight. Instead, they have been granted permission from both kingdoms that lay claim to them to travel to the English court to try forge new alliances.