by Jill Myles
Idalla took another bite of her roll, then gave Seri a dreamy smile. “It’s like something out of the old stories, you know. If the prince is truly blessed by the goddess, his bride will be revealed to him, and his reign blessed with many daughters. If no worthy bride is found for him, he may continue to have betrothal ceremonies until one is chosen. Sometimes, though, the king decides that he wants his sons to marry, and Prince Graeme has found no Eterna after five ceremonies. This will be his last if the goddess does not choose for him this year.”
It sounded fascinating and appalling all at once. To think that all these noblewomen had gathered at the castle to win the hand of some doddering ancient prince who hadn’t found a bride in over fifty annums. “Do the gods often choose a bride for the prince?”
Idalla shook her head. “Haven’t in over a thousand years, I’m told. Still, the kings of Athon are sticklers for tradition, so they continue to hold the ceremony every ten-year. Prince Velair had six betrothal ceremonies before the king allowed him to marry the Lady Brey, who brought immense wealth back to the Blood.”
Seri immediately felt sorry for Lady Brey, who was probably young and cried herself to sleep every night now that she had been married to an ancient, dried-up prince and was expected to produce more male heirs.
“I’m told that Prince Graeme—he’s the younger brother to Prince Velair and crown prince of Vidara—is partial to a particular Lady Aynee, but she carries very little wealth, though her family name is prestigious. Your Lady Mila probably sees this as her last opportunity to flaunt herself in front of the prince before he chooses his bride.”
That sounded like Lady Mila’s plan, all right. “So no one truly expects the gods to pick a bride for the prince at this ceremony? It seems a foolish thing, then. So many nobles trotting out into the wilds just on the hope that the gods might smile down upon one of them.”
“Not gods. Just one goddess,” Idalla corrected, then chewed her lip thoughtfully. “I’m told that the prince must acknowledge every eligible woman at the ceremony. Many women take that as an opportunity to put themselves before the prince that they would not otherwise have.” She shrugged. “You should see the dresses, though.” She gave a wistful sigh. “I remember seeing the last ceremony as a child. Each lady tries to outdo the other in beauty. I’ve heard that Lady Aynee plans to wear bright red, so the other women are careful to steer away from that color lest they blend in with what she has chosen.”
“It seems rather silly to me,” Seri said. “All this pomp and ceremony for something that will not even happen. Lady Mila has her hopes set rather high.”
“I’d watch out for that one,” Idalla warned. “Her motives may seem harmless, but Lady Mila thinks only of herself and her own value. You’d best be careful, my friend, or you’ll find yourself on the wrong end of her anger.”
“Call me Seri,” she offered, feeling a kinship with the girl. “And thank you for the advice.”
~~* * * ~~
The next evening proved to be a trying one for Seri, and were it not for the three dru promised to her, she would have run screaming from the castle early on.
“Not like that!” Lady Mila snapped, her voice a shrill cry that cut through the air of the chamber and made the ladies wince. “You’re manhandling my skirts, you little beast!”
Seri dropped the massive train of fabric as if she were stung, expecting another slap. She’d already received several throughout the day. Luckily, Lady Mila was on the far end of the dress this time. Trying to keep her voice even and pleasant, she said, “I apologize, Lady Mila.” She glanced uneasily at the other waiting women who stood nearby, smirking at her. “Forgive my ignorance. Please show me again how I am to hold them.”
The words choked out of her between gritted teeth. To think that she had to show submissiveness to this spoiled woman. Mila probably wouldn’t last a day out in the midst of the plains. No doubt she’d attract every wildcat in the area and be nothing but gristle and bones by sundown.
The morbid thought caused Seri to smile. Rough hands grabbed Seri’s, and she looked over into Winna’s serious, thin-lipped face. “Take the finger-hooks and wrap them around your fingers and hold the material outward, spread. It should look as if her ladyship is floating.” The woman wrapped the thin gold cording around Seri’s brown hands with irritation. “Right now it looks as if you’re a beggar trying to get a few coins at her feet.”
That stung. The smile eased off Seri’s face, replaced by an impassive look that hid the hatred in her eyes. She spread her fingers as Winna instructed, noting that the decorative gold cording bit into her flesh and chafed.
Three dru, she told herself again. Three dru. You’ll be able to buy a cow, and have enough left over to buy some seed. The field out to the west won’t be fallow any longer and you’ll be able to plant come spring.
The thought of a smile on her sister’s face was enough to keep her going and she obediently followed when Lady Mila moved forward once more, a vision swathed in layer upon layer of gold tissue and a slippery black fabric that Winna had referred to as “silk.” Seri’s rough hands had caught on the silk when she touched it and she’d been careful not to go near it again.
“Better,” Lady Mila snapped, whipping around to eye the Vidari girl. “You’ll continue to practice tonight, I assume. I want it to be perfect for the ceremony tomorrow evening.” She reached around her back and began to unhook the endless tiny buttons that crawled up the back of her dress. Winna rushed over to help her.
“Of course, my lady,” Seri assured her, taking the cue and unhooking her fingers from the fabric. “I’ll practice all day and night if I need to.”
“You need to,” the woman snapped, her pretty features hardening into a mask of dislike. “Is your costume ready?”
Seri hesitated. “I don’t know. Am I to wear something special?” She looked to Winna in surprise. They had mentioned new clothing, but she thought the gray servant’s dress she currently wore had been it. No one had mentioned anything else to her, though of course it was foolish to assume she’d remain in her practical garb for the ceremony as well.
Winna avoided making eye contact, her fingers busily picking out a stray thread from Lady Mila’s beautiful costume. “You are. My lady’s special tailor is putting the final touches on it as we speak and you shall be fitted tomorrow just before the ball.”
“Splendid,” Mila announced, a beatific smile returning to her pale features. “We shall catch the eye of every man there. Most especially the prince.” She gave a girlish giggle and tugged at the bodice of her dress. “Come and take this off me, Winna. ’Tis too tight to wear for long and I need my beauty sleep before tomorrow arrives. I want to look as fresh as possible, and all this worrying over the savage girl is fraying my nerves.”
“Of course, my lady,” Winna said, hurrying over to Lady Mila’s side. The other women took the cue and scattered from the room, leaving only the two women and Seri, who still stood holding the train of the fine dress rather awkwardly.
The handmaid cast a hateful look Seri’s way. “What is it you want? Can’t you see my lady is distressed? Being around you is very trying for her.”
Seri wanted to retort that if it was so trying, the lady could pay her and she’d gladly leave. Instead, she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming and forced a blank smile to her face. “Is there anything you would like for me to do in the meantime?” Anything to keep her mind busy and off Lady Mila’s theatrics.
Winna hesitated a moment, then said, “The tailor needs more feathers. Go down to the kitchens and see if they can give you some from the chickens they are preparing.”
Feathers? What an odd request. She didn’t like the look the two women exchanged, nor the twitch of Lady Mila’s lips. It felt like a fool’s errand, but then again, what was not? Everything in this foreign castle reeked of shallow, petty lives, and she thought longingly of her sister and father, and of Rilen’s handsome face. “Any particular kind of feathers?�
� she asked, dragging herself back to the present.
The maid shook her head and then gave another imperious glare to Seri. “No. Just feathers—lots of them. Now go, before you cause my lady to lose her composure altogether.”
Odd, but Lady Mila didn’t seem all that ruffled. She seemed… amused by her maid’s antics. Seri nodded and turned to leave.
“Bow!” Winna hissed behind her. “You bow to nobility when you leave their presence.”
As if it was a reward? She bit the inside of her lip so hard she tasted blood. Seri turned back to Lady Mila and Winna and smiled. “I am sorry, but Vidari do not bow.”
“You must do something to show respect,” Winna said, outraged. Mila continued to smile.
Seri hesitated for a moment, then touched her forehead in an effusive flourish. Her gesture mimicked the head-touch that the male soldiers did for the nobility.
Silence. Then, a grudging, “That is better. You may go now.”
Seri left, Lady Mila’s smug look swimming before her infuriated eyes. Once out of the lush apartments, she paused in the hallway, scarcely able to breathe due to the rage that choked her. Her eyes were clenched shut and her breath came in deep, rasping gasps as she fisted her hands against her sides. How dare those women treat her like so much animal dung? Like an inferior creature, simply because her skin was a golden tan and not the milky pale that bespoke Athoni nobility? The three dru suddenly seemed like less of a prize the longer she stayed. “Hateful, hateful woman,” she muttered, her lips tightening even as she spit out the words. “I hope she trips on her dress tomorrow.”
“Excuse me.”
The voice spoke to the side of her, low and cultured and utterly polite, devoid of any sort of Vidari accent. Seri froze in place, slowly opening her eyes and turning her head to look to the side of her.
A beautiful nobleman stood just down the hallway—the same one that had been in the carriage. A short distance away, he stood, regarding her with a cold look on his face. Two men in uniforms stood behind him, gaping at her.
Had he heard her speak? Dread washed through her, replaced by burning anger as she regarded his impassive face. He looked to be emotionless, carved completely out of unfeeling marble. Ice-cold heart for an ice-cold dictator in the middle of her warm, wonderful country.
She lifted her chin and regarded him. “Greetings.” No acknowledgment of title or rank.
He took a step toward her, and she noticed that his hair was black and just a shade too long to be perfect. It curled against the collar of his jerkin, a jerkin that had probably cost more than she would ever see in her lifetime. That same odd, wonderful scent that followed him touched her nose. “I heard rumor that Lady Mila had taken a Vidari into her employ,” he said, emotionless. “I take it that you are she?”
“I am,” she replied, trying to force her voice into the same dreadful neutrality.
His eyes flicked over her as if she were nothing. “In the future, I would suggest that you learn our manners if you wish to be successful at your new position. You are to bow in acknowledgment of any nobility that passes you and address them with the proper title. Do you understand?” The voice did not waver in its succinct politeness.
“I do.” She lifted her chin higher, then added, “My lord.” As if she’d ever bow to him. Never, even if she lived to be a hundred.
He studied her with dark eyes, as if looking for something below the surface and finding nothing. After a long, silent moment, he spoke again. “Your ill temper can be attributed to your cultural ignorance. See that you remember your manners in the future.”
With that, he swept past her, his two lackeys close at his heels.
She managed a weak nod as he passed her, knowing that he wouldn’t see it and careful not to make it subservient at all. How dare he? Her face still burned from bottled rage.
“Oh, and girl,” he said as an afterthought, those dark, unfathomable eyes on her. “If I were you, I’d keep my opinions of Lady Mila’s employ to myself. I can see to it that you are dismissed without pay should I hear you speak badly of her again.”
“I’ll remember,” Seri gritted out.
“See that you do,” the cold voice intoned, and the man was gone.
Insufferable brute, she thought to herself, turning the other direction and heading for the kitchens.
Chapter Three
Seri was starting to think that three dru would not be enough money.
She sat in a wooden tub in the midst of the servants’ quarters as two women pounded and scrubbed away at her long blond hair. The soap they were using was so harsh it made her face burn. Her eyes streamed as she tried to get a good look at the costume that Winna held up.
“There’s hardly anything there,” she protested again. “I cannot wear that.”
While the Vidari people practiced comfort more than anything else in their easygoing clothing, she had no doubt in her mind that any Vidari of good standing would likely pass out at the sight of the costume that Lady Mila had provided for her.
It was a ridiculous mockery of her people’s garb. In a Vidari village, it was not frowned upon for girls to bare their arms or their legs up to the knee for clothing, but the dress being provided to her was scanty in comparison. The top was little more than a loose triangle of white fabric with no back and tied behind the neck. The skirt was composed of two long strips of the same white material held together by a cleverly woven wreath of intricately dyed golden feathers and meant to be worn low on the hips. It seemed like little more than wisps of white cloth that would accent the tan of her darker skin and make her stand out in the crowd.
“Where is the rest of it?” Seri rubbed soap out of her eyes and scowled at Winna.
“Where is the rest of what?”
“The dress,” she protested. “You’re missing half the gown. Where is the skirt? The sleeves?”
“There are no sleeves, and this is the skirt,” Winna said in a stern voice.
“There’s hardly any skirt there,” Seri grumbled, unease beginning to clench in her stomach. No woman of good moral standing would wear that. “I cannot wear that in public.” Because she was Vidari, the men in the castle already eyed her like she was a loose woman. She couldn’t begin to imagine how awful it would be to have to parade around in that dress in front of them.
“You will wear it,” Winna said with a thin smile on her face. “Lady Mila put great thought into your costume.”
I’m sure she did, Seri thought, and swatted the two washerwomen away. “Give me my clothes. I wish to leave. You can pay me for the time I’ve already spent here and give my regrets to Lady Mila.” She’d had enough of this. There would be no cow, but at least they’d have enough to eat comfortably for a time.
“I’m afraid the rest of your clothing has been returned to the rightful owners. You may have this garment.” Winna gestured with a smirk at the flimsy dress.
Anger boiled through Seri. These women infuriated her. “What about my clothing that I arrived here with?”
“Burned,” she said with a haughty sniff. “We did not know what sort of vermin they carried.”
Seri knew good and well that her clothing carried no lice. Furious, her hand smacked the surface of the water. “So you’re going to keep me here as a captive?”
Winna sniffed again. “Of course not. You’re free to go at any time.”
Go without the money and without a stitch of clothing, judging from the superior smile on Winna’s face. “I see,” she said, her voice flat. She stood out of the tepid bath. Immediately the two washerwomen were back, rubbing down her body and the long hair plastered to her back. “You have me well and caught, don’t you?” she asked Winna, and was rewarded with a pleased smile.
“Not caught, girl. Lady Mila has left orders and I am simply following them. She wishes to have a savage carrying her train tonight and she shall.”
Scowling, Seri stepped out of the tub and took the gown from the woman and began to dress.
“You
’ve practiced your proper address and carrying Lady Mila’s train, I take it?”
“All morning and afternoon in preparation for tonight,” she agreed wearily, settling the feathered belt low on her hips. The skirt left her legs very bare, and they stood out, brown and long against the thin fabric of the dress. She had nothing on underneath—one windy breeze and she’d reveal everything to every lascivious man in the throne room. Hateful people, to humiliate her like this. She focused her mind on anything else to distract her. “Why the feathers?”
“I beg your pardon?” Winna turned to her.
“The feathers,” Seri repeated, gesturing at the belt. “I don’t understand.” She allowed the two attendants to steer her toward a nearby stool and sat when directed. One grabbed a wide-toothed comb and began to rip it through Seri’s half-dry hair. Seri sucked in a breath at the pain and then remained silent when the woman began to pull harder.
Winna touched her own neat bun. “It’s tribal for your people, isn’t it? One of your ceremonies?”
Tribal? Was the woman crazed? “My people haven’t lived in tribes for a hundred years,” she said with a rueful look. “The only ceremony we have is one to celebrate the spring, and we wear wreaths of flowers for that.”
“Well, there were no flowers available in the dying season, so feathers will simply have to do,” Winna said, dismissing Seri’s complaint. She handed a wreath of gold-dyed feathers to one of the attendants. “Comb her hair but leave it loose—we want to emphasize her savagery. And weave this in.” She handed the gaudy feather circlet over and turned on her heel. “I expect if you want to see your money, girl, you’ll be in Lady Mila’s chamber in half an hour, ready to go.”
Seri scowled at the woman’s back, debating her options as the women tugged and whispered over her hair. She could leave now and walk home—it was only a walk of an hour or two, but she’d be on foot, and she didn’t know where her shoes were. Not that it bothered her—shoes were expensive and she only wore them in the winter. Still, it was her only pair and she couldn’t afford another if she didn’t get the money.
