Another aspect of her hair was more disturbing. Sometimes Varnia thought about it having been there all of her life. It had been through everything she had, a sort of silent witness that absorbed all her experiences. Sometimes when she wound it up and pinned it to the back of her head, she thought of it as a coil of memories – and Varnia’s memories, until lately, had not been sweet ones.
The dashing and dramatic Samorsan hairstyles intrigued her. One in particular stayed in her mind, where the hair was cut to chin length and then sculpted in luxurious waves with a saucy curl pulled forward on each cheek. She could imagine the comfort of having such short hair in this hot land – right now sweat was trickling down her scalp and she wasn’t even moving. She also had her habitual headache, spreading from the continual pull her coiled locks caused on the back of her head, her scalp irritated by dozens of hairpins.
She saw Ifor approaching her in the hair salon window and turned toward him. He raised his eyebrows for her permission to smoke, then took out a cigar and lit it.
“Interested in this one?” he asked, pointing with the cigar to the very picture of the wavy cut she admired the most. “That’s the one for you, my dear.”
Varnia looked up at him.
“I wouldn’t dare,” she said shyly. “I – what would everyone think?”
“They’d think you cut your hair,” Ifor smiled back. “Don’t let that keep you from doing something you want to do. Also, don’t let me tempt you into doing something you don’t want to do. You’re the one who decides.” He offered her his arm, as if to move along.
Varnia nearly took it, but hesitated, looking at the picture again. Light, cool, dashing and daring. Everything she was not.
Ifor leaned close and whispered something in her ear.
Varnia blinked. Then she smiled.
“Wait for me?” she asked.
Ifor winked and sauntered over to a bench, sitting and crossing his legs. He stretched an arm comfortably across the back of the bench and proceeded to relish his cigar.
Varnia went into the cool salon and within minutes was having her hair washed. The lady barber studied her tresses and then agreed that the style in the picture was exactly right and would be easy for her to maintain.
“So heavy, so hard to keep, all those pins!” she exclaimed, looking at the pile of hairpins that had been pulled from Varnia’s hair. “We will help you.”
Varnia didn’t even flinch when the first lock of hair fell to the floor. Each cut lightened her head. Only then she realized that her neck ached from holding up that massive coil of hair.
Ifor blinked and jumped up from the bench when she came out of the salon. He bowed to her with a smile.
“I’ve hardly taken it in,” Varnia said breathlessly, amazed at the coolness of her neck, the feeling of freedom when she turned her head and didn’t feel the weight of that pinned up knob of hair. “They showed me in a mirror, but I was so excited I could barely look.”
“That won’t do,” Ifor declared. He escorted her to a shop, took her inside and selected a beautiful ladies’ hand mirror. He gave it to her and turned her toward the light from the window.
“That,” he told her, “is a beautiful woman.”
Varnia looked at her reflection and caught her breath.
Her hair framed her face, the cheek curls arranged to emphasize her suddenly very large and exotic eyes and her delicate chin. One of the assistants had put some lip rouge on her and showed her how to groom her eyebrows, saying she would never need more cosmetics with her striking features and good skin. Her nose, which she had always despised, now looked as elegant and regal as Borsen’s.
She looked strong, independent and yes, beautiful. Not Katrin’s pink, gold and blue prettiness or Eiren’s tawny, redhaired loveliness, but something patrician and bold. Something far from a big-nosed scowling little girl or a big-nosed scowling woman.
“Now, don’t cry,” Ifor laughed. “I’ll take you to lunch.”
“A Samorsan woman advised me to marry you,” Varnia laughed aloud, taking the handkerchief he offered. Ifor laughed with her.
“We’d just conveniently move Kip into the linen closet,” he answered. Then he turned around and bought the mirror for her, along with the matching brush and comb.
***
Varnia tried to take in all the reactions when she and Ifor walked through the door of the family’s suite – but that proved impossible.
“Oh, you did it!” Katrin cried, jumping up from her chair and running over. “Look how it curls! Did they curl it? Oh, I wish I dared cut mine!”
“It’s my natural curl,” Varnia managed.
Eiren smiled and rose as well.
“It’s lovely and very suited,” she said. “Did you have a nice day?”
Varnia nodded and began to tell her about seeing the fountain, but then Hemmett came in from his room.
“Be upstanding for the lady!” he bellowed, saluting her in fine style. “Did Big Ifor give you a dare?”
“Give you a punch for that,” Ifor muttered. Varnia realized how easily he spoke to her when they were alone and how unusual that was. He tended to mumble and mutter in company. “She had her own mind made up, just needed to hear some little, pertinent remark to put things in perspective.”
Katrin was asking what the remark was, but all attention went to the main door, where Menders and Borsen were coming in to change for dinner.
Menders put his hat on the hall table and switched to his clear glasses – then he saw Varnia. He came to her and took her hands.
“My brave girl,” he said softly. “I don’t need to ask if you’re happy.”
“Doesn’t she look like a lady revolutionary or heroine?” Katrin asked him delightedly.
“Indeed. Like a woman who knows her own mind and strength,” Menders answered. He smiled at Varnia, released her hands and stepped aside – leaving her face to face with Borsen.
He looked at her solemnly and nodded.
“My beautiful, powerful big sister,” he said so softly that no-one else could hear it. “Now you are found.”
He came close and Varnia put her arm around his shoulders.
“And what was the remark you made to Varnia, Bear?” Kaymar asked from the sofa where he had been lounging, watching all the excitement.
“Simple enough,” Ifor shrugged, taking off his jacket. “I just reminded her that it’s hair – it grows back. Gave her all the perspective she needed.”
Varnia thought of that when she sat before her mirror and used the brush Ifor had given her. Every time she moved her head, she heard the word ‘freedom’ in her mind. No hairpins, no long braid rubbing her shoulders or getting tangled around her neck during the night.
It was as if nearly seventeen years of incessant work, exhaustion, pain, hunger, despair and worse had been cut away – and Varnia was suddenly determined that they would haunt her no more.
She pushed up the waves, even though she was about to get into bed, smiled at herself, whispered “good night” and turned down the lamp.
Parita and Saronilla, Samorsa
22
Hemmett’s Turn
“O
f course,” Menders said immediately. “You’re more than due some leave, Hemmett. I’m surprised you haven’t asked before now.”
“Haven’t come across a place I wanted to spend extra time in,” Hemmett replied. “Like Borsen and Barambos – it speaks to me, as he says.”
“I’ve always been fond of Samorsa myself,” Menders smiled. “I like the modern government, the people, the freedom the women have. I prefer the climate further inland to here though, it’s a bit hot for me in Parita.”
“I can say the same. I actually want to go back to Saronilla. So I’d like six weeks, if it’s possible – if not, four would do.”
“Six it is,” Menders said firmly. “Here, let’s stop off at the market and pick up dinner for everyone. Eiren wasn’t feeling her best and I think an evening in with a simple meal
might be just the thing. That way she doesn’t have to dress and sit at a restaurant.”
“I think Kaymar and Ifor were going out – Ifor’s finally prevailed on him to go to the opera,” Hemmett grinned. Menders snickered a bit.
“I’ll prepare myself for Kaymar’s recounting of the event tomorrow,” he replied. Kaymar was not fond of opera but tolerated it frequently to accommodate Ifor’s enthusiasm for it. “That makes things even easier then – dinner for seven, if you know whether Willem will be with us or going off on his own.”
“He likes family meals, so he’ll be there,” Hemmett said. “There’s some of the sunfruit Eiren loves so much. Let’s get those.” He gabbled his pidgin Samorsan to the stallholder and procured a large bag of the oval yellow fruit. “You know, I’m going to miss Will while we’re in Artreya. He fits right into family life.”
“He’s a good man,” Menders agreed, indicating to the butcher that he wanted eight roasted cockerels, a pan of baked ground Samorsan sausage and a box of meat rolls in crisp pastry. “He’s been a tremendous help and a good companion guard for Varnia and Katrin. Kaymar is considering rotating him back to us while we’re in Artreya, but wants him to train a bit with Menders’ Men at The Shadows. We also need to get Borsen’s donkey home before we leave Samorsa.”
Hemmett laughed aloud. He was enormously amused by Boss and would miss him once he was shipped back to The Shadows. He had managed to teach the little donkey how to bow on cue. That and the dancing trick Borsen had introduced made the donkey a hit whenever “The Knot” went out as a group, taking Boss along to carry picnic baskets or extra wraps. Boss thought he was in heaven, never overloaded or ridden by anyone who chucked his mouth.
“I think Samorsa has been everyone’s favorite stop so far – excepting Borsen, who was transported by Barambos,” Menders said as he considered a display of freshly baked bread.
“Definitely mine. That situation in Fambré was unfortunate. Is Katrin still writing to the priest there?”
Menders nodded, indicating several different loaves to the stall owner, who began to wrap his purchase in brown paper.
“It’s a nice correspondence for her and her first with someone who isn’t connected with The Shadows. Of course now she’s writing to Chetigré as well. I’m sure she’ll meet plenty of people in Artreya who will become pen friends. She wants to enroll at the University there.”
Hemmett was looking over a vegetable cart.
“Varnia could make a salad from some of this,” he said suggestively.
“You’re a country boy, pick out some likely items,” Menders answered, drifting toward a bakery specializing in desserts.
“A simple dinner,” Hemmett muttered to himself in amusement, selecting several bunches of greens and then adding a number of other colorful vegetables for garnish. He caught up with Menders, who had already ordered a magnificent cake, a boxful of pastries, another of meringues and a platter of candied fruits.
“One other request,” Hemmett said as he started to heft their parcels and bags. “Do not send anyone to shadow me as you did with Borsen.”
“Of course not, and I mean that,” Menders responded seriously. “You aren’t a target. Katrin and Borsen are. You will be blissfully on your own, Captain Greinholz.”
***
“Oh Bumpy, you mean you wouldn’t travel into Artreya with us?” Katrin said in dismay. Hemmett had pulled her aside and told her about his leave.
“Now Willow, I’ve been two years without a real leave,” he said patiently. “Don’t put a spoiler on it for me by carrying on.”
“No. I’m sorry,” she said immediately, putting her hand on his arm. “It’s just hard to think of going there without you.”
“I’ll be along in a few weeks. You can get settled and scout out the area. Then you’ll be able to tell me all the best things to do when I catch up. I really want to see the Samorsan Games, Willow.”
“I wish the university term started later, but we have to be there in three weeks,” she sighed. Then he could tell she was determined to put a good face on it.
“And what else will you get up to while you’re there?” she asked.
“For one thing, I will wallow in the bed until the sun is well up,” he smiled, tucking her hand in the crook of his arm and walking her back into the suite. “I’ll take afternoon naps, eat too much and if I feel like doing nothing, that is exactly what I’ll do.”
“And will you be on the watch for ladies?” Katrin teased.
“Very possibly. Now, let’s help with this simple dinner which nearly broke my back to haul up here,” he answered. “Menders was like a man gone wild, buying more and more. We have groceries for a week.”
***
Hemmett sauntered down Market Street in Saronilla at a leisurely pace, reveling in not having to be vigilant. He enjoyed his work and he loved Katrin dearly, but the average person had no idea how tiring a heightened awareness of everything could be.
Truth to tell, he was still badly rattled by the situation that had arisen in Fambré and how he, Menders and Katrin’s other security had miscalculated the temper of the place. If Katrin hadn’t experienced that eerie premonition, or whatever it was, they would have all been just so many more dead bodies. Something like that couldn’t happen again.
Menders had reminded Katrin’s security, including the Menders’ Men who stayed out of her sight, just how closely they had to watch for any sign of anti-Mordanian sentiment in Artreya. There had been some sabre rattling going on between the nations of late, not much more than the usual degree of disdain – but it was a different matter when a Princess of Mordania was traveling there anonymously.
Hemmett, if you got down to brass tacks, was not happy with the idea of the family traveling to and living in Artreya. To him, as to any Mordanian military man, Artreya was the enemy. Actually living in enemy territory struck him as a very bad idea.
But this sunny morning, he was putting that situation out of his head. He would deal with it when he joined the family in Artreya. For now, he was on leave, the Samorsan Games were beginning tomorrow and he was going to visit a certain market stall.
He could smell the mingled scents of spices before he saw the brilliant orange draperies over Luntigré’s counter.
Luntigré looked up and put her hands on her hips, turning her head slightly, fighting a smile. Hemmett didn’t know it, but the late morning sunlight was flooding the street behind him, turning his russet brown hair into a crown of light.
“Do you have any sweetbark for a wandering soldier?” Hemmett smiled as he reached her counter and leaned on it dashingly.
Without a word, Luntigré picked up a stick of sweetbark, broke it in two and shared it between them. She leaned on the counter, her face close to his as they savored the spicy treat.
***
“So tell me about these ‘tigré’ names,” Hemmett said as Luntigré ran her fingers through his hair, gently encouraging the curls he oiled into straightness every morning.
Luntigré laughed aloud.
“My mother’s true name is not Chetigré,” she explained. “She was born Julita Fortha and then married a man with the family name Bonno. He was a terrible man. He is not my father. She had me from another lover later. The marriage was arranged, you see. He wanted her to work all the time in the house and on the farm. There were other women and he flaunted that to her to make her cry.
“She left him and found she could not have the marriage dissolved, that she was, for all purposes, his property. No woman could have a marriage ended in Samorsa at that time, only a man. She refused to return to her husband and found work in Parita as a cook.”
“She also discovered women who were forming a revolution, to make things better for all women in Samorsa. It’s only recently that women have owned property and run businesses, only in the last twenty years.”
“They’ve come a long way,” Hemmett remarked, thinking of the independent Samorsan women he had met.
; “Very much. They were brave and would not give up. All the women of the nation struck until they were given the same rights as men. My mother was in the vanguard of these women and won the name Chetigré, which means ‘tiger woman’ because she was so fierce and powerful.”
“And so your name?” he prompted.
“Luntigré means ‘moon tiger’. Both moons were full the night I was born and the first time my mother saw my face, the moonlight was on it. My elder sister is ‘Montigré’, which is ‘mighty tiger’. Hers was a long birth and it took a great deal of strength for my mother to bear her. She held on tight!” Luntigré laughed aloud and Hemmett laughed along with her.
“And so what sort of tiger is your little girl?” he asked.
Luntigré shook her head.
“There are enough tigers in this family,” she smiled. “Her name is Florina de Nizé, which is ‘night flower’. It was high summer when I bore her. The smell of the flowers was so intense that night. When you meet her, you will see that it is the perfect name for her. We call her Flori.”
“Where is she?” he asked. It was coming on to full dark now.
“She is with my sister and her cousins for a few days. They are all going to the Games. She is six years old,” Luntigré said. “Do you like children, Hemmett?”
“Yes,” he answered, sitting up against the headboard. “Eiren runs a school near The Shadows and there are always children around and about. I was also a tutor and instructor for the youngest boys at the Military Academy in my final year. When I’m back in Mordania I may do some more teaching there. I never grew up, you see.”
Love and Sacrifice: Book Two of the Prophecy Series Page 23
