Novelly Tidbit: Reworking Chapter One

I've decided I need to spend time rewriting the very sad first chapters of my novel, as I've learned so much since then. It's very hard to balance introducing the world, main character, etc. while making it interesting at the get go and drawing you in to the story. Still dunno if I'm there yet, but it's definitely improved. Here's a bit of the new beginning I've written recently (caps denote things I put in to keep the flow going but will be addressed later. i.e. ignore the terrible Latin):

     Fear. It’s not so much my earliest memory as it is my earliest feeling. There are hazy shadows on the edges of my mind when I delve as deeply as I dare, but the terror that grips me is clear as day. As long as I can remember, it’s been a constant throughout my life. It’s formed the core of my entire existence so that I’m unsure how to live without it now. And, despite everything, I’m not sure I’d want to, either. It’s given me strength to face the trials that have been put before me, one after another. When you’re fearful, when you’re desperate, you find reserves within yourself that you never knew existed. I’m not certain I’d be here today without the challenges that have pushed me ever forward, persisting through sheer stubbornness. You could say I’m known for this trait.

     It’s not that my childhood was a particularly difficult one. I grew up in relative luxury compared to most children in our fair city. I come from the Imperial family of our Empire, clan Cassinii, the line of rulers unbroken since my ancient ancestor founded the capital city of Vetus. I was named Setina, for a winter flower that grows on the mountains some days outside our city and bloom despite the thin air and frigid temperatures. I can’t imagine my parents knew just how appropriate and well-suited a name it was at the time. I was also called Taleria, in honour of my mother, Talina, and her mother, Valeria, as was the custom in our family. So, in full, I was known as Setina Taleria Cassinia, daughter and eldest child of Tirenal Tipinius Cassinus, also called Imperator. As I grew, my father controlled our vast lands from our large, lavish palace atop the central hill of Vetus surrounded by the homes of all who were rich and influential, particularly the families who formed our empire’s Senate. From our perch above the city, the upper classes kept themselves aloof from the lowly plebians which made up the general population. In the palace, slaves and servants attended to all our needs and I can honestly say that I wanted for nothing. At least, that was true from a material sense.

     My family has always been just my father, my younger brother, and me living in the palace my entire life. My mother died while I was yet still too young to remember when giving birth to my brother. Other than that, I knew nearly nothing about her, as the loss was far too painful for my father to discuss. I only learned of how she died through my nursemaid when I was barely older than a toddler, asking her if she was my mother once I learned that children usually have two parents instead of just the one. Mallia looked down at me, heartache radiating from her dark eyes. Kneeling down to my level, for the one and only time in my childhood, she took a deep, slow breath with what seemed like her entire body. Then, she explained that, no, she wasn’t, though I did have one at one point. She didn’t seem keen to keep going, but one word kept swirling around in my mind, and I couldn’t keep my childish-self from pressing her further. Why? I already knew that we were different from many other families. It was literally written on our skin. Or, more importantly, it wasn’t.

     I’m uncertain when and where the tradition came from, but in Vetusian society, everyone wore a Mark upon their forehead denoting their clan or guild or some other allegiance. Once a citizen came of age, they would gain their Mark in the form of permanent scarification, a ritual shrouded in secret with techniques and ingredients closely guarded by the group performing it. For instance, the two largest clans by far were the opposing political groups and their associated families. One was the PLURES REPROBA, whose Mark was a series of interconnecting rings the length of the forehead in a gaudy red colour. How the colour was added and the scar healed so clearly, only the ritual keeper of the clan knew. The other was much more modest, the UNUS VERUM wearing a simple triangle several shades deeper than the wearer’s own skin colour. The variety of Marks was nearly endless, though everyone had one. Even slaves had a simple X carved into their skin, denoting their status. Only the Imperial family remained Markless and unblemished, no allegiance except that to our family and our empire. We were meant to be neutral in all things, and thus kept ourselves separate from the rest of society, as much its servants as its rulers.

     Still, I didn’t understand why we had to be different in this way, as well. I’d seen some of the fellow children around the palace with their mothers, usually servants of ours, and I became painfully aware that my life was missing something essential. Mallia sighed and tutted, obvious reluctance crinkling the X upon her brow. After thinking for a moment, she made some brief explanation that babies come from mothers, but it’s difficult, so sometimes the mothers don’t survive. I wasn’t entirely certain what she was trying to say. The thought that women somehow wielded the magic to create babies was a bit too strange to get my head around, but I knew who to blame now: my younger brother Sercinal. This was what my young mind clung to, and I doubt anything would have convinced me otherwise in that moment.

     I went to him in our shared quarters afterwards, barely a toddler himself, and wailed and cried, asking him why he had to kill our mother. Of course, this set him off as well, and once we both got going, nothing could calm us down. Mallia tried futilely for what felt like ages before finally giving in and sending a guard to fetch our father. He was never happy when we children were too difficult for the servants to handle without his interference, and this occasion was no exception. My father’s face was stern, lips turned down in a frown. Mallia hurriedly explained the situation, eyes downcast with guilt. Though I hadn’t imagined it possible, my father’s expression soured even further.

     “I will deal with you later,” he said to her, voice strained.

     Mallia nodded and hurriedly left us alone with him.

     I had ceased my tantrum long before that moment, too frightened of my father’s presence. Next to me on the stone floor, Sercinal was still whimpering uncontrollably. I nudged him with my elbow as my father walked towards us, the braziers in the room casting his long shadow over us. But what he did next surprised me.

Ooh, cliffhangery. I'm interested to hear thoughts and criticism on how it reads, how you see the world beginning to form, etc. if you got this far. Feedback will only help me improve!