We entered the doors, and a completely different world awaited us. In contrast to the dimming and silent outdoors, the main hall of the Casa Real was bright with lights and alive with the lively chatter of a hundred or so guests.
In the corner, a rondalla—complete with all the known string instruments—played a familiar Spanish piece.
Several long tables had been arranged across the hall. As with most gatherings, the more prestigious the guest, the nearer their seat was to the head table, where the President and members of the cabinet were seated.
Don Antonio and his daughters were given seats at a less distinguished table. Although they bore a famous last name, they were only one of several Tiongson families in town—and not the most well-known.
Somewhere along the way, as we wove through the tables, I lost both Triviño and Dimalanta. I scanned the room and spotted them at the far end, seated with other junior officers. Of course, I knew that their decision to escort me hadn't been entirely out of duty.
Without my company, they wouldn't have made it through those doors. Triviño would not have been invited, and Dimalanta—given his unresolved issues with his mother—wouldn't have been allowed in either.
I didn't mind. Certainly not then.
I could feel Paz's grip on my arm tighten as we felt the weight of a hundred eyes. Whispers followed us as we passed. I, and my general's uniform, drew my share of attention—but most of the eyes were on the striking woman beside me.
It was clear she was growing uncomfortable, which was why I picked up the pace, heading for the table where Don Tiongson was already seated.
Then I felt a gentle hand on my other arm, stopping me. I turned to see an unfamiliar face—an officer, perhaps a captain.
"Heneral Lardizabal?" he asked with a polite smile.
"Yes?"
"The table for the generals of the Republic is this way. Please allow me to escort you…" He paused, then glanced at Paz. "And the Señora."
"Señorita," I corrected at once. Given how rarely Paz had been seen in public, the mistake was understandable. Still, it flustered me, and I cleared my throat. "Señorita Paz Tiongson."
The officer's eyes lit with realization. He offered a quick apology, then motioned for us to follow him.
I glanced back at Don Tiongson, who had clearly understood what was happening. He gave me a quiet nod of approval.
We followed the officer, making an L-turn toward the front of the hall, where the lights shone brighter and the names grew more important. It was only then that I realized—I hadn't asked Paz if she was comfortable with this. But with all eyes on us, having her step away while I moved forward to a more dignified seat would not have reflected well on her.
"Are you alright, Señorita?" was all I could manage.
"Please, Don Martín… don't worry about me," she said with a soft chuckle. Though her voice carried a trace of nervousness, I chose to trust her. If she could battle the illness that had haunted her all her life—and win—then what were a few bright lights?
We passed by the head table, which faced the rest of the hall. The President was deep in conversation, but Señor Apolinario Mabini noticed us and greeted me with a nod and a faint smile. I also spotted Heneral Luna—gazing into the air, visibly bored by the proceedings.
"Ah! Finally!" Heneral Torres rose from his seat as I approached the generals' table. "Heneral Martín Lardizabal, the newest general of the Republic!"
The announcement drew the attention of everyone at the table. I counted seven generals—five of them accompanied by their wives. Most offered friendly smiles.
We were shown to the far end of the table, directly across from Heneral Torres. I pulled a chair for Paz, seating her at the edge of the table, hoping it would spare her the discomfort of sitting beside a stranger. Then I took my seat.
For a moment, I glanced around the table, studying the faces of the men I would now call my peers. Most appeared to be in their thirties or older, but to my surprise, two of them looked no older than Vicente. There was something unsettling about seeing such youthful faces beneath the weight of a general's uniform.
"I didn't know we had a new general," remarked the officer beside Torres, a note of amusement in his voice. He extended a hand. "Mariano Llanera, from Nueva Ecija. A pleasure to meet you."
I shook his hand and returned the smile. "Martín Lardizabal, from Marinduque."
As if I had uttered something scandalous, everyone at the table—except for Torres—looked surprised. A low murmur rippled among the generals. I was confused at first, until Heneral Llanera gave me a clue.
"Did I hear you right—Marinduque?"
Marinduque was too small to have a general. That must have been what they were thinking. I braced for further questions, eager to explain the details of my appointment.
Then the rondalla fell silent, and the hushed conversations it had drowned suddenly surfaced—only to be quickly quieted by the sound of glass being struck.
"¡Atención, señores!" called the same officer who had escorted me. "El Presidente, Don Emilio Aguinaldo, will now offer a few words."
All conversation ceased. All heads turned to the head table. The President rose slowly from his seat, adjusted his bow tie, and cleared his throat. He wore a military uniform fit for his station—golden epaulettes on his shoulders and a red banda crossing from shoulder to hip.
At once, everyone in the room stood and raised their glasses, following the President's lead.
"Tomorrow marks a momentous occasion—the most important yet for our young nation. At last, we shall taste the fruit of our labor, the reward for our blood and sweat," the President declared, in eloquent Tagalog.
He raised his glass high, and the crystal shimmered under the lights, reflecting a hundred smiles.
"To the birth of the Republic—and to the freedom of our people!"