by Tabitha Vale
Braya stared at her, scowling. What was she, trying to unravel her whole life? Like any of those things had been anything of a mystery—Braya would have gladly told her all of it if the stupid feather-brain wonder had went through this like an actual interview.
Braya mustered the strength it took to shrug. She was still a little ruffled from Hera-bird's earlier comment about her mother. “I was born into this family. That's the only kind of “earning” I need.”
The grotesque sort of jubilation that swept over Hera-bird's beaky features made Braya want to recoil like a turtle ducking into its shell. It was as if she had wanted Braya to say something like that.
The pacing resumed. “At any rate, you, as a Crown citizen, were also privileged with Interview training. You went through a six-month course on all the mannerisms of this very interaction and I must say you're doing worse off so far than any normal citizen. You knew all the dips and turns, all the strategies—you knew exactly what to expect coming in here, and yet you're not employing anything you learned. Miss Vace, why is that?”
By Camille! If this bird of a woman was trying to corner her like this, how was Braya supposed to answer? It was like kicking a baby bird out of the nest and expecting it to fly back up—there was just no way. Braya knew this well. This was her way of speaking to others, and now this ugly, sniveling woman was trying to use it on her.
It was time to give this woman what she was asking for—to hell with the interview. It was already hopeless. Braya had skipped most of the “training” sessions that Hera-bird had mentioned, and the classes she had attended she hadn't paid attention to. Why should it matter? This was a mess—all she had to do was get her mother to file a complaint afterward.
“Is this really about me?” Braya asked. She was empowered now. Lightning could have crackled through her fingertips she felt so energized. She would not let that bird get the best of her. Braya was a Malister after all, even if her name didn't reflect it yet, and Malisters always got their way.
“This is about you, isn't it? All of your insecurities, laid to waste in what was supposed to be my Career Interview. Maybe you have a grudge against Mother that you're secretly nursing. By acting nasty and unfair to her undeserving daughter, you plan to exact your revenge. It may be the only opportunity for you. Everyone knows you were supposed to come in here, play nice, ask some pointless questions and then give me my first choice after being “thunderstruck” by no third option and dramatically considering the second option. But no, you saw that Mother wasn't here and let all of your hideous insecurities out on me, and in Mother Ophelia's presence, no doubt.”
Hera-bird's only reaction was a tightening jaw and one raised brow. “Tell me, Miss Vace. What's the real reason you want to be on the Fair Lady's Court? To copy Mummy? To follow her around like a little puppy dog?”
Braya crossed her arms and stuck her nose in the air. “I thought that would be obvious. We're the Malisters—my family has high expectations—”
That strangled half-caw, half-laugh forced its way out of the ugly crow—yes, if most like any bird, she had to be a member of the crow family, Braya decided. Her tech pad was alight in her palm again.
After a moment of thumbing through files, she held the pad up in the direction of the windows so that an image of a bucket of apples bloomed brightly against the sheer white curtains. Braya, Mother Ophelia, and Channing all stared at the apples expectantly. A shiver of unease crept up Braya's back, but she chose to ignore it.
One after another, the apples were plucked out of the bucket and discarded.
“You see the deep red color of these apples? They're the delicious ones. The ones that were grown properly. They all come from the same tree, too. Now it's time for them to go to the market to be sold and consumed. Oh, but look at this—”
The apple she had just withdrawn from the picture bucket looked discolored and bruised.
“This rotten one, would you eat it?”
Slowly, Braya shook her head. Dread pooled in the pit of her stomach.
“Exactly. Why would it be fair to sell that one bad apple when there are millions of other trees to pick from? Why should we sell that rotten one just because it comes from the same tree as all the other delicious apples? Because it can't let its family's expectations down? Because it grew up right next to the best of the best? I'm sorry young lady, but this world doesn't work like that.”
What was wrong with this stupid crow? Didn't she know that's how her world worked? How could the wingless twat even compare Braya to a bruised and disgusting apple? Braya hated apples.
Mother Ophelia and Sir Channing were watching on solemnly now, resembling two people spectating a Moon Tamer match whose team was not faring too well. Braya's mounting frustration toward the bird-woman swelled at the sight of them. She had forgotten they were there for a moment, and the general strangeness of her interview hit her again with full force. Mother Ophelia. An unknown man. An evil bird-woman hellbent on fulfilling a personal vendetta. Was this all because Mother hadn't attended as a Witness? There had to be something more to it, but Braya didn't get the chance to consider it further before crow-face breached the silence.
“I think you fit a Maiden's Job. We've received your frighteningly average results for the placement tests and the two virtual questionnaires you submitted. Aside from your royal attitude, you have no qualifications for either of the careers you requested. Really, Braya Vace, you don't deserve to be special, so I'm not going to make you special,” Hera-bird announced, appearing pleased with herself.
If Braya's rage were compared to a couple of blood hounds chained to a fence—snap, the chains were broken—she'd be pummeling that bird into the ground and tearing her apart feather by feather. A Maiden's Job? How utterly revolting. With no filter, no danger of disgracing her guests—she had just been offered the lowest of the low jobs, there was nothing more to hold back—Braya lunged out of her seat and slapped the tech pad out of birdie's hands, glowering.
“Fine, do what you want! But I will certainly raise hell later,” Braya huffed, her voice growing louder with each word. “This is NOT a proper interview! I don't even have a Witness, you're a bat out of hell with your messed up questions, Mother Ophelia is here for God knows why, and not only that, but a man is sitting here as an official Witness. What IS this? Certainly not an interview, so give me whatever you want, it's all void!”
Before Hera-bird could form a response—
“Hera,” a sweet, chilling voice rang through the room. The hair on the back of Braya's neck stood on end and her eyes snapped up to where Mother Ophelia was now standing. Her voice was a startling contrast to Braya's shouting. It was funny, though, that she was addressing the bird twat when Braya had been the one to scream. Funny—but not so much as the color of Mother Ophelia's dress. The same deep red of the apples that Hera-bird had previously used as an analogy—taunting her in its poofs and curves.
“Hera, dear,” Mother Ophelia repeated, her elegant gown shuffling as she strode forward. “Please. You cannot let an old grudge affect your decision. Now, look at this girl. She may not be suited for any of her requests, yet don't you think she at least fits the role of a Bride?”
And then it became much, much worse. Brides. Everyone regarded them to be the best job below a Crown, but Braya thought otherwise.
Mother Ophelia passed the cranky bird and walked straight toward Braya, who shrank back into her seat. She had never been this near to Mother Ophelia before—no one really had. Up close she could smell the woman's sweet honey perfume, and see her pore-less skin so clearly that she was embarrassed. Her green eyes—apple green no less—stared directly into Braya's. She nearly jerked in surprise when Mother Ophelia reached out to stroke her hair.
“See? Her hair is so long and silky. You know, this dark, chocolate brown hair is trending right now. It's so much more appealing than that annoying mousy brown that's so common these days. Her eyes are dark to match, her skin is fair, and she's quite beautiful, d
on't you agree?”
Braya wished she could retreat from the woman's touch. It was doing damaging things to her anger—a righteous anger the dumb bird-woman deserved to receive the full of.
The Hera-bird's face was flushed now, to Braya's mild satisfaction, as if she had swallowed a dead worm. Or maybe her kind liked them dead. Braya really knew nothing about birds and what they ate, nor did she care
Mother Ophelia gave a small, tinkling laugh. “I'll take your silence as agreement. You see, Braya Vace,” she turned back to Braya, her voice like bells, “you're far more beautiful than the other women in your family. As you must be aware, we need to breed beautiful people. The more well-groomed families we have, the more our city can achieve. It is all about creating a better society. Once you're paired with a handsome man, you can have beautiful children. You will be a member of one of our most important traditions in this city.”
She made it sound as if that was what Braya wanted. The truth couldn't be further off. And that was why being a Maiden was better than being a Bride—she wouldn't have to latch herself “till death do they part” to a man. Running a daycare, teaching elementary school, being a waitress, working in a department store—surely those were better than being a Bride.
For a moment Braya couldn't understand her own discontent. Her mother would fix this up immediately...Her mother was one of the most powerful people in the city…That’s right. Braya had merely gotten carried away.
Begrudgingly, Braya conceded. She even added a tiny smile that made Mother Ophelia beam pleasantly.
And so she became a Bride. At least, until she could speak with her mother.
~Chapter 2: The Brides~
The Heartland Manor. That's where Braya was assigned the next day. It was the place where all the to-be-Brides were sent to be trained. Braya didn't know a lot about it, except that it was some gaudy mansion located in the Heart District.
The Hera-bird had sent her an enormous file folder to look over via email. It detailed everything there was to know about Brides, including their lifestyles, their duties, their roles in the city, what they did in their spare time, and even their current fashion trends. It was a lot more than Braya would have imagined—wasn’t their main job just to be pretty? Braya only had one night to look over all 78 pages, so she had left it untouched. People normally had years to research the careers they wanted to be placed in, and were usually experts about their top three. Braya hadn't even considered Brides, and there was no way she was going to become an expert over night. So she'd trashed the file.
Braya wasn't stupid, though—she had kept the address. From the first page of the manual that Hera-bird had sent her she had caught something about meeting at the Sky Rail station and then riding in Romance Carriages all together with the other Brides to the manor. Braya would do anything to avoid that.
So she arrived at Heartland in her own car. Braya had timed it so that she would turn up at the same moment that the Romance Carriages did. The Heartland estate was vast and, as such, located on the edge of the Heart District, one of its boundaries lying mere yards away from the Sandy River. The private drive that led up to the estate ended in a round-about. A white marble fountain sprouted up from the center of it, layers of water flowing from tier to tier.
The Romance Carriages crowded the drive around the fountain. All pale yellow in white trim, the carriages were large on the outside, which meant they were probably spacious enough to fit several girls in each.
Braya's car was idling off to the side, and she watched carefully through the window, neck craned, body stretched across the backseat. If she got out at the right time, she could merge into the flood of girls without being noticed.
It only took a minute before they were spilling out of the carriages in a sea of colorful dresses and billowing skirts. They were moving as one mass toward the gates, so Braya quickly thanked her driver, slipped out the door, and hastened to the edge of the group. The warm air smelt like freshly cut grass and flowers. The sky was baby blue with no sign of a cloud. Birds chirped in the distance.
But it was all lost on Braya, who was busy trying to blend in with the rest of them.
It was difficult; their chattering reminded her of butterflies—fluttering and delicate, something she considered herself complete incapable of. It made her uncomfortable, so she chose not to get too close as they waited in front of the towering gates.
Said gates were elegant, wiry, white doors that looked something like fairy wings folded together with two silent guards standing on either side of them. Unnaturally tall hedges spread upward in a V-shape from the top of them and then leveled off and enclosed the entire Heartland property. They loomed so high and wide that Braya took a moment to wonder how they'd grown so massive.
Aside from the guards, there were two women who looked older than the rest of the girls—all of whom were seventeen, recently out of school, and fresh out of their Career Interviews like Braya. The two women were in their mid-thirties, if Braya had to guess, and had larger-than-usual tech pads in their hands. They were the chaperones the Bride manual had mentioned.
“Now, girls, girls,” the one with the blonde bun called over the growing noise. “Please. Can we have your attention for a moment?”
It took a minute for the talking to eventually taper off, but the two chaperone women seemed to have infinite patience.
“Great,” the other woman said in dulcet tones. She was wearing a large, hot-pink hat that looked more like an elaborate mantel piece than anything that belonged on someone's head. “We have a bit of instruction to go over before we head inside darlings, so please pay strict attention.”
Blonde-bun woman looked up from her tech pad the instant Pink-hat woman finished speaking. “First of all, please refrain from leaving the group today. Once we pass through the doors you will be tempted to look around, but please be patient. After Orientation you will all get the grand tour. Secondly, we have a tight schedule today. That means we need your best cooperation so we can get through everything.”
They were acting like the girls were a group of first graders.
Awesome, just awesome.
“I'm sure you all have a lot of questions,” Pink-hat took up, her smile achingly wide, “but please save them until after Orientation. It's likely most of your questions will be covered then. So, please remember, the smoother this goes, the sooner we can go to the first stage of Groom Selections at the end of brunch.”
Groom Selections? Braya made a mental note to look that up on her tech pad when she got the chance.
“Right, if you'd all follow us, we'll head straight to the Grand Theater for Orientation,” Blonde-bun said. Pink-hat was saying something unintelligible from Braya's standpoint to one of the guards. A moment later the gate doors arched open, and again Braya was reminded of fairy wings, only this time they were spreading wide instead of folding in on each other.
A shiver of suppressed excitement traveled through the group of girls like a sudden chill—even Braya felt a slight inclination of interest to know what could be so special behind the hedge.
They shuffled forward, and Braya took special care to avoid brushing against anyone else or lingering too long in any of their lines of sight. She was not here to make friends—they were normal citizens. Finches. Finchwhites—those small, white, annoying birds who screamed loudly when they got too close to each other. They had some magical properties, but she couldn't remember what they were. It didn't matter, either. The name had caught on in the academies—especially hers, Ellaber—years ago and all the other Crowns called the commoners Finches now. It was terribly funny.
So Braya just had to survive this one day—this one day of dress-up, gossip, Finches, and boys—and then she could talk to Mother after dinner. She hadn't had the chance to discuss anything with her mother after the Interviewing Committee had left yesterday, so she had no choice but to attend the Bride Orientation. Mother would fix it, though, without a doubt. Mother could do anything.
; The gates were opened but Braya could see little of what lay beyond because she was at the back of the group. She wasn't short by any means, but she wasn't heads taller than the rest, either.
They trickled in slowly. She heard many gasps from the front of the line and had to refrain from rolling her eyes. They could be impressed easily since they were just Finches, but Braya grew up in wealth and refinement—she wouldn't be ooh-ing and ahh-ing like the rest of them.
When she finally made it through, she was surprised. Well, just a smidge surprised, she would give them that. The group of girls had split and were walking across two ornate bridges that arched up, wide apart, and then joined on the other side in a curve, much like the shape of a heart. Under the bridges was a sleeping pond of crystal-blue water.
Halfway across one of the bridges, Braya glanced down. Colorful fish zipped through the shallow pools and, oddly enough, bright corals swayed at the bottom of the unmoving water. Upon its mirror-like surface tiny bugs floated, bodies glowing gold like fireflies.
Braya discovered at the end of the bridge the pond thinned out but didn't end. It spilled into a small pool of water where the largest fountain Braya had ever seen gleaned in the sunlight. The group of girls were still split on either side of the pond, walking along a pebbled path, and immediately upon seeing the fountain an exclamation of glee rose up from them. It was like a conductor urging his orchestra into a crescendo, the fountain being the conductor in this case.
It was the size of at least three of the Romance Carriages she'd seen outside the gates put together. The crystal figurine mounted in the center of the fountain was of a man and woman—probably a Bride and Groom—clutching at each other. The man held the woman around the waist with both arms while hers encircled his neck. If they weren't made of glittering crystal, Braya would guess they were gazing lovingly into each other's eyes. Water flowed down her extensive dress—which was swept around the man's legs—and settled into the pond below them.
