by Janeal Falor
“Mother isn't going to like this,” Cynthia says, a step behind me.
“I'm not residing with her anymore.”
“What if Chancellor Zade doesn't like it either?”
I shrug and try to put the thought from my mind.
“You really should put it on. Think of what he could do. Has it really been so long that you've forgotten all of Father's punishments?”
My steps falter for a moment before I continue. “I've been punished enough times, I don't think one more will make a difference.”
Cynthia grabs my arm pulling me to a stop. “But he's much bigger than Father and more powerful. What if you're seriously injured? I know you don't want to think of it, but he could do worse things. Don't you remember the incident with Thomas?”
Gently, I push her hand from me though her words strike unease. “Don't fret so much.”
She bites her lip. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I am. Now we must hurry or we'll be late, which is worse than absent face paint.”
Keeping the fear away is a struggle as Cynthia's words haunt me. I doubt myself. Why did I feel this was necessary? Trying to be like a girl from something I shouldn't be reading anyway. What possessed me to think it was a good idea? I don't want this marriage, but the alternative makes me ill. Soon enough, we are in the sitting room right outside the dining hall. The forest green sofas and chairs are empty.
“Perhaps I should...”
“Should what?” The Envadi's voice comes from behind me.
I can't imagine how someone so huge gets around without being seen or heard. He must use magic. Following a moment's hesitation, I turn my bare face directly to him. Cynthia moves closer to me. The Envadi says nothing, merely raises an eyebrow.
No immediate punishment. The tightening in my chest loosens. “I should check if my mother has arrived.”
“Indeed I have.” Mother enters from the same door the Envadi used, her burgundy dress tight against the swell of her belly.
The Envadi says, “Should we go in to dinner?”
We watch, waiting for him to take the lead. He catches my eye a moment, then goes to the door and opens it. “After you.”
We stare at him another moment. Mother takes a tentative step. Before she gets any farther, she looks at me for the first time and gasps.
“What is it?” the Envadi asks. “Have you fallen ill?”
Mother stares at me another moment with wide eyes. They narrow and I ready myself for a lecture. “I felt faint for a moment. I'm well now.”
“Are you certain? You can rest a minute.”
“No need to fuss, I'm well.”
“Let's see what cook has made then. I'm sure we're in for another treat.”
Mother scowls at me and pads into the dining room. Cynthia and I follow. The walls, tables, and chairs are all made from a dark wood. Though the table is long enough to sit twenty, there are only four places set.
Cynthia and I stand by our customary chairs. Mother stands behind a chair across from us. As the Envadi does every meal, instead of taking his seat as he ought, he motions for the servants to help us all sit at the same time. It takes mother a moment to follow suit, but once she's settled we fall into our silent meal.
When the dessert course is set before us, an assortment of fruit and vanilla cream, I go straight for the strawberries. Before I can take a bite, the Envadi breaks the silence.
“Fruit from the garden. Apparently the main gardener owed Chancellor Jacob's family some money and they settled by using his magic talent on the grounds. They say he has a knack for getting things to ripen whenever he desires. These peaches are tasty.” The barbarian wishes to discuss fruit? With us women? He turns to mother and says, “Don't you think so, Agatha?”
Mother drops her fork. “Why, yes.”
“Which is your favorite?”
Tentatively, she says, “The peaches. As you said, they are good.”
He nods. “And you Cynthia, which one would be your favorite?”
“The peaches, Chancellor.”
He takes another bite while we stare at him through lowered lashes. “What do you think, Serena?”
I hate peaches, but I'm not supposed to contradict him. With Father I always knew where my boundaries were. Now, I'm not so sure. Time to find out. “I like the strawberries best.”
Mother and Cynthia gape at me. The Envadi smiles. “A dissenter? Granted, the strawberries are good, but not as good as the peaches. They've ripened to perfection.”
“Then you must eat mine. I can't abide them.” After taking my cup off its saucer, I place the strawberries on the plate. I pick up the dessert dish and set it next to him. Let him punish me, then I'll know what to expect.
Mother's face is drawn in horror, but the Envadi laughs. “And I won't let good peaches go to waste, but there are apples, too.”
“I'm finished with everything there.”
“I'll make sure nothing is wasted then.” He scoops the remaining fruit onto his plate.
I'm not going to be punished? Why? Not that I wanted it, I only wanted to know what it took to get it and how bad it would be. I fork a strawberry while pondering it.
He takes several more bites. “Agatha, Councilman Stephen's note mentioned you were going to be returning later in the week to assist Serena in preparing for the engagement ceremony. What day, or days would you like to come? Is there anything you need that I can help with?”
Mother's gaze darts between me and the Envadi. Finally, she picks up her fork and responds. “Any day is fine. My schedule is clear.”
“You're welcome on all of the days then. In fact, you can stay with us while you make your plans.”
Mother stares at her plate. “I don't believe Councilman Stephen would care for me to be away from him that long.”
In truth, I'm surprised he let her come without him, even with a male servant to chaperon. Though the Woman's Canon says a warlock always knows where his wife is and what she's doing. Perhaps he thought the servant was sufficient.
“Of course you must please your husband. I just don't want you worn out with the traveling.”
The remainder of the meal is silent. Though not much of a meal. My strawberries have hardly any taste with such strange going ons. Mother pushes food around her plate, but Cynthia and the Envadi finish their fruit. When he pushes his chair back and stands, we jump to our feet.
“Would you like to enjoy some time in the sitting room with us, Agatha?” He says it as if we do it every night, but we never have before.
“No, thank you. I believe I must be off.”
“So soon?”
Mother nods.
“Then I'll let the girls see you out. Feel free to take my offer for dinner when you come again. A guest room can be readied easily enough if the Councilman allows.”
I tense as the Envadi gives a nod and strides from the room. Mother moves to the door. When I don't immediately follow, she snaps. Cynthia and I hurry after her.
“Not you Cynthia. You can go to your room and do whatever it is you do in this big place while I'm at home slaving over twelve girls and preparing for another babe.”
Cynthia opens her mouth to speak, but closes it again with the shake of her head. She scurries from the room. I make a note to be extra kind to her tomorrow and follow mother out into the hall. Our footsteps are quieted by a brown rug. Once we're no longer within hearing of the servants, she turns to me with a hiss.
“Where's your face paint?”
I swallow. “I was in a hurry, so I thought that—”
“You don't think. If Father knew...” She frowns and rubs her lower back before pulling a pocket-sized Woman's Canon out of her pocket and turns right to the page she wants. “A woman must always look her best.” She snaps the book closed. “You won't go without it again. Ever.”
The command makes me grit my teeth. “Yes, mother.”
She watches me closely and sighs. “Have you given any thought to the ceremony?”
More than I wish. “Some.”
“Good. We don't have nearly as much to do as we will when it's time for the wedding. Mostly, we need a dress. I'll bring one with me when I come tomorrow and see if it fits.”
“I'll be ready.” Like I have a choice.
“See that you're wearing face paint when I arrive. I'd hate to see you punished for breaking the Woman's Canon this close to your wedding.” She straightens. “I'll see myself out.”
I watch as she waddles down the corridor, wondering what tomorrow will bring.
***
“Quit fidgeting,” mother says around a mouth full of pins.
“Ouch!” A pin stings my leg.
“I told you. Now hold still so I can finish.”
I try to hold still. Really, I do, but I can't help it. The dress is awful though I have yet to see how it looks on me.
Mother moves to my stomach and starts pinning the material. “We'll have to take it in, but I think it will work. I can't believe you're grown enough to wear it. Seems like only yesterday I was wearing it to my own engagement ceremony. Finished. What do you think?” Mother's face glows at me, but from her chair nearby, Cynthia is passive, save for a tightening around her mouth.
I turn toward the mirror, my painted face reflected back, trying to guard my reaction. It's more like a slip than a dress. Flimsy black material clings to me, held up only by two thin straps. Right now it reaches a touch below my knees, but mother has plans to hem it three inches.
I detest it. “This is what you wore?”
Mother nods. “I know it's different from our customary dress, but men like to show off their new things.”
“I'm practically naked.”
“Serena! Language.” She puts the rest of her sewing kit away. “Your dress is acceptable for an engagement. Chancellor Zade informed me it didn't have to be as traditional. The gowns now days are not nearly as modest as this one. We can get one of those if you like.”
They can be worse than this? “He said it didn't have to be as traditional?”
“Yes. I don't think he cares too much, and I thought you would prefer this, but obviously not. We can get something more showy. There's plenty of time to run to the closest town.”
Cynthia meets my gaze in the mirror, slowly shaking her head like she knows what I'm thinking. I ignore it and grab the opportunity to wear something else.
“I'd like a gown that covers more.”
“Really darling, this dress covers as much as you can for an engagement ceremony. Perhaps too much.” She eyes the dress, then pulls the pins out. “We don't want you getting punished over this.”
I hold my hand out. “No. I want something that doesn't leave me feeling like a red tarnished.”
Cynthia gasps.
Mother's face whitens, her lips tighten. “We will see.”
She turns to a nearby servant. “Please inform the Master that his bride is refusing my choice in engagement gown instead desiring for something that's highly unsuitable.”
The servant nods and scurries from the room. Mother sits in the corner and picks up a blanket she's embroidering for the baby. Sky blue, of course. Cynthia's worried eyes watch me.
“What are you doing?” she whispers.
“Would you wear this in public?” My heart beats faster. She'll have to wear something like it when she gets engaged. I wonder how long it will take the servant to return a message. Or what if the Envadi returns with him to see what all the fuss is about. I hurry to my clothes. “Help me change into a real dress, Cynthia.”
She sighs and stands to help. “We've always known the engagement ceremony attire is more revealing than generally permitted.”
“And that makes this acceptable?” I motion to the garment now laying on the floor. “I think not. I'm not keen on marrying anyway, I refuse to wear something I'm so uncomfortable in.”
Cynthia picks up the discarded dress, throws it over a chair, and helps me into a forest green one.
“Too much freedom,” mother says from across the room. “If your Father were here, he'd skip a beating and go straight to a hex. If that Envadi has half your Father's wits, he'll do the same.”
I bite my lip as Cynthia finishes tying my dress. Mother's right, but I don't want her to be. Being here has made me too lax. Rarely seeing the Envadi and no negative consequences when I disagreed with his choice of fruit, made me unwary of how severe punishments can be. I wanted to know how far I could push him, but by barely crossing the line, not bounding over it. Is he coming to hex me now? Or will he wait until I've chosen the wrong gown and hex me then?
The servant enters the room. Mother puts down her work. “Well?”
Instead of addressing mother, the servant walks to me and hands me a pouch. “He said to tell you the carriage has been sent for. You can go to town and pick what you like. The money should be enough to cover what you need.”
The bag is heavy. I can't move. I can't breathe.
“He did what?” Mother's eyes grow with disbelief.
“Sent for the carriage.”
“He didn't want to do anything?”
“He did ask if she'll return in time for dinner.”
Does this mean not only can I go to town, but I can skip another stiff dinner? “Inform him that I won't be back, but mother would be happy to attend.”
“She's not going with you?” the servant asks.
“No. Cynthia, would you like to join me?”
Cynthia looks at mother. “I'd better not. Perhaps you shouldn't either. If you insist on going, at least take a chaperon.”
That's right. I don't have a chaperon. The Chancellor didn't offer or provide one. What will happen if I go without?
“Don't you do this,” mother warns. “He's laying a trap for you and you're falling right into it. He will beat and hex you before tarnishing you.”
I ignore her.
“Enjoy your dinner, Cynthia.”
“Serena, please don't,” mother says.
Still pretending she's not speaking, I head out the door. For the first time in my life, I will do something wholly by myself.
Chapter Eleven
The seamstress keeps staring at the door after I enter. I glance at it. Nothing special there. The rest of the shop is customary. An area for chaperons, cushioned chairs and tables laden with things to eat. To my right is a harder area for women to wait. Both are empty. Material and clothes are in the back.
The seamstress huffs, getting my attention. She's an angular woman with no engagement or wedding mark. Probably a lower class trying to help her family make ends meet until she can fulfill her purpose by marrying and producing babies. A warlock sits behind the counter next to her, reading a book. I can't tell if he's the owner of the shop, or just supervising. Either way, I wish he wasn't here.
“When's your Father coming?” the seamstress asks.
“It's just me.” Her eyes grow over raised eyebrows. Using Father's example, I try to sound authoritative. “I need a dress for an engagement ceremony.”
“Ahem. Yes.” She looks at the door again then grabs a few sheets of loose paper. She thumbs through the pages a moment before stopping. “Here they are. Basic patterns we can alter to suit you. Your figure isn't perfect for an engagement dress, but not bad.”
Cynthia wouldn't have gotten that criticism. “It's what I have.”
She continues as if I didn't say anything. “We can come up with something suitable for your Father to approve when he has time.”
I let the barb and the comment about Father go. What could I say anyway? I inch forward so I can see the pages she's referring to. Instantly I avert my eyes. Mother was serious when she said her dress was old fashioned and modest. These gowns make mother's choice positively chaste.
“I was thinking something a little well—well more.”
The shopkeeper nods. “It's not what you're used to, but they're perfectly respectable for an engagement ceremony.”
“I understand, b
ut would still like something different for my own dress.”
The shopkeeper's face tightens with a false smile. “Why don't you come back later with your Father and mother? They are so helpful.”
I slap on an emotionless mask and take a breath. “My parents nor any other person will attend me. I want a dress that will cover me properly.” The warlock finally looks at me, but I keep my focus on the seamstress. “And in a color too, I should think.”
“Color?” she says. “Engagement dresses never have color. Black and black only. For humility, worthiness, and submission to your intended. Black gives in to all. A bride must do the same.”
“Are you saying you won't make what I'm asking for?”
“Course I won't. Are you addled?”
“Excuse me, I find I won't be needing your services today.” I leave as she continues to yell at me to bring my Father. I take a deep breath. Getting clothing was never like that before, but I always had the one thing she wanted. Father. Maybe coming without a chaperon wasn't a good idea. Especially when I'm asking for something so different. Never know until I try. I head for the next shop.
Three stores later I have similar degrees of failure, but a variance on rudeness. One store flatly refused to speak with me without a chaperon, and the last store said I might as well go to a tarnished store, except tarnished never marry so wouldn't carry such a thing. In spite of the no marriage thing, I thought it sounded like a good idea. They make dresses, it can't be much different to make an engagement one. Can it?
I give the driver instructions to find a tarnished seamstress. He lifts a brow, but doesn't say a word as I climb in the carriage. At least some men seem to care about their job and not harassing women. Luckily it isn't a far enough drive to make my stomach feel ill. Yet, as I stand in front of the shop, I feel ill anyway. A tarnished clothing shop. What was I thinking? I might as well give in and let myself become a tarnished. Mother's dress will be fine. She was right. I sigh and head toward the carriage.
