by F. F. John
Contents
Title Page
The Proem
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Dedication
Copyright Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Glossary
Author's Note
Acknowledgments
About The Author
Books
THE PROEM
BOOK 0.5 OF THE NOME CHRONICLES SERIES
(A SHORT STORY)
F. F. JOHN
The Proem
Proem (n)
Pronounciation: pro-em
Meaning:a preface or preamble to a book or speech; a beginning
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Also, please find a Glossary at the end of the story.
Thank you.
To S.M., Emmanuel & F
Copyright Page
THE PROEM
BOOK 0.5 OF THE NOME CHRONICLES SERIES
By F. F. John
Published by Harcourt Briggs
Copyright 2017 F. F. John
All rights reserved
License Notes
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.
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Chapter One
“Don’t you think she’s had enough, Neith?” The irritation in my best friend’s voice is unmistakable.
“No, not yet,” I answer and with the flick of a finger, instruct a passing waiter to set down his tray of drinks. Of the two of us, Bel’s always been the more level-headed. Although I should consider the unspoken warning in her words, I hand Madina another glass of alcoholic Pomrose.
The muscles in the young girl’s throat flex as she tilts her head back, glass to lips. “Aah.” She sighs, eyes gleaming in the bright lights of the ballroom. “Are you sure this is Pomrose juice?”
“Of course, it is, Madina.” I pick up a glass from the tray. “Maybe you haven’t had this type before?”
She burps. It’s unexpected and she quickly covers her mouth in embarrassment. “I’m so sorry!” The words shoot out like gunfire as she squeezes her eyes shut.
“Oh, not to worry,” I lean in and place a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Her rust brown gown is cool and soft under my skin. Still uncomfortable, she stirs and the silky fabric shimmers becoming an array of blues, black and even hints of red before settling back to its original color. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”
Bel sighs in dramatic fashion from her chair. Fine, she wants me to bring this game to an end and I will. Just not before I get what I want.
I’d seen Madina sulking by herself at this table almost twenty minutes ago. The rest of her family, Nome Opitz, was at its own table, making merry like the others present. We’re all here at the Veydit Center to celebrate the pairing of Scioness Enyama Damil and Doge Lance Singer but I can see through the fake smiles at the Opitz’s table. I can also interpret the couched message in one of the empty seats at their table. However, I’d rather have Madina confirm my suspicions.
The air is punctuated by a loud sob. It’s immediately followed by an even louder shh and I turn to see what’s going on. The crying started very early today as Lance’s many admirers showed their sadness at the reality of his pairing. A girl, probably my age, is being comforted by her mother. Her blond hair is set in a series of stern curls that sit on her head like a halo. Is that Bray? From the angle she’s sitting in, it’s hard to tell. She swipes her tear stained face like a little kid who watched a bully take her candy. The formal pairing ceremony ended almost forty-five-minutes ago and still, she’s crying. It’s pathetic.
The waterworks began once Lance muttered his words of commitment to Enyama. As if any of these other girls ever had a chance. I’m also fairly certain that all these stupid girls have no idea that their precious Lance is not quite what they imagine him to be. Those who know are aware that he’s always up to no good. Lance can often be found frequenting places of ill-repute and leaving a trail of delinquency in his wake. Something I’m certain he will continue doing despite his very flamboyant pairing ceremony, though the extravagance of the event is likely more so his mother and future mother-in-law’s fault. Still watching the blond girl with the halo, my gaze shifts to Lance’s older brother, Hogan, as he approaches her table with a warm, dimpled smile. Now, Hogan is the sort of guy these girls should be into. I guess he’s not bad enough for their tastes. Plus, he’s very taken.
Turning my attention back to my investigation, I ask, “Tell me, Madina, where’s your sister? I can’t believe she’d miss Enyama’s pairing ceremony?”
“She had a headache today.”
“A headache? That’s an ailment that can be eradicated in less than sixty seconds, right Bel? You restorers don’t even show up for those.” I say with practiced flourish and turn to my best friend trying to bring her into my game. All she does is narrow her eyes in a scowl that she now turns on Madina.
“Where’s your sister?” Bel growls.
Madina folds her lips, eyes darting between myself and Bel. I’m going to need to coax her some more. Surely, whatever she’s holding back is bound to be good.
Another waiter nears with a tray of dainty-looking penny cakes. Earlier, I overheard Enyama’s mother, Titane Damil, say that they’d be in Enyama’s favorite colors. A quick glance reveals layers of robin-egg blue and white, instead of the normal copper-colored cake and buttercream mousse filling. It’s a pretty touch, and I’ll do something similar for my coming of age party in a few months. Actually, maybe I’ll have them shaped differently and I’ll be sure to serve them with crystal dessert forks, each with diamonds inserted in the handles. They’ll be a dainty surprise that no one expects.
Satisfied that the dessert at my event will surpass Enyama’s, I whisk my golden gown out of my way and head for the waiter. I swiftly take two penny cakes. Placing one in front of Madina and the other before Bel, I say, “Come on, friends can tell each other these things.”
Bel’s dessert fork scrapes her plate loudly as I lower myself into my seat. A sidelong glance reveals she’s stabbing the cake. She’s done with this stunt of mine and I’ve probably got another five minutes before she drags me off. She ogles the rest of the enormous room with disinterest.
“Madina, where’s Adaora?” I ask, quietly.
The ten-year old’s eyes set on the delicacy before her, unable to hide the longing they display. “I’m not supposed to talk about Adaora.”
“Why?” My voice is sympathetic, as if I feel sorry for some great suffering she’s endured.
She slowly licks her lips, eyes stuck on the dessert. “Mama doesn’t want a scandal but Adaora’s so sad about Lance and Enyama and uh…”
I push the dish an inch closer to her and watch as her
hand leaves her lap. It’s nervous fingertips frolic along the off-white tablecloth, frittering closer to their target.
“Mm-hmm?”
“Ah…” she licks her lips again and I know I’ve got her. I just have to be a little patient.
Seconds pass as I wait for Madina to speak. Her lips part and I hear a soft sigh.
“Oh, just spit it out!” Bel says from across the table, her face contorted in impatience, and I groan internally. What’s wrong with her? She doesn’t have anywhere else to be, so why is she trying to spoil things for me?
Madina’s face falls and she looks askance at Bel. “I... I…” She turns back to me, uncertainty in her expression.
I close a hand around hers. “Don’t worry about Bel, she can be a bit of a grouch when she’s not particularly happy and this event hasn’t been much fun for her.” I glare a warning to my best friend before smiling at my target. Madina’s confused features start to settle but not before she glowers at Bel briefly.
She swallows and the act is full of nervous energy. I hand her another wine glass. Hopefully, more alcoholic Pomrose will loosen her tongue.
“Adaora loves him,” she says, conspiratorially after a few sips. “And he loves her, you know? But his father, Titan Singer, wants him to marry chubby Enyama because her nome ranks higher than ours.” When she says ‘chubby’, her whisper becomes a hiss and the sides of her mouth drop with disdain. As if Enyama’s size makes her unworthy of Lance. This, despite the fact that Madina is on the portly side herself. Her own mother has publicly chastised her for her weight even though she looks like a perfectly fine ten-year-old to me.
Returning to my investigation, I consider what Madina just revealed. Despite this very public alliance between Nomes Singer and Damil, trouble is afoot. The prospect of drama is alluring and I hold back a mischievous smile from my face.
Titan Singer’s stance is understandable. The Damils are only two spots behind Nome Singer in the Group of Twenty rankings. If Lance were to marry someone much further beneath his family’s standing, it would send tongues wagging. It’s unusual for a highly-ranked family to enter into a pairing with one that’s six places beneath them, as is Adaora’s family, Nome Opitz.
“And that’s why you were sad earlier? You think your sister, not Enyama, should be paired with Lance, right?”
Madina nods emphatically. “Mama says this pairing will be temporary. We’ll prevent it from becoming a full marriage. She promised Adaora that Lance will be hers.”
It doesn’t take a genius to know that pairings can be dissolved, just like any other contract. And yes, a pairing is a contract, even though the romantically-inclined like to argue otherwise. It’s an agreement made in the presence of every other nome indicating that two families plan on a future marital and business partnership. Normally, after the pairing ceremony, the families take their time to see where aspects of their businesses can merge to create more profit for both nomes. However, if a major disagreement ensues between the families or a particularly damning scandal comes to light, that can be enough for one nome to pull out of the agreement. And for that reason, some pairings have been as short as a few days. If, however, the pairing period is successful - businesses align positively and the paired individuals like each other enough to stay together - then a formal wedding will take place.
If what Madina said is true, then Titane Rayna Opitz has a plan to prevent Lance and Enyama’s pairing from becoming a permanent marriage. The latter are much harder to get out of. If she manages it, things are bound to be dramatic and highly entertaining.
I look past Madina to the largest table in the room and she spins to do the same. It’s a long rectangular table burdened with all manner of plates, goblets, flowers and more. In the middle are Lance and Enyama. As for Enyama, her wide grin devours the rest of her visage making her look like that of a Cheshire cat. She’s a conqueror drunk on her victory. Lance Singer, a beloved and popular doge, is her conquest. To her right are her parents and other family members. They appear just as happy as she is. White teeth shining like beastly canines before a bloody feast. Lance’s family looks equally content but not him. His eyes furtively go to the empty seat at Nome Opitz’s table. Adaora’s. How interesting. Given his track record, I would never have thought Lance had true feelings for Adaora, but maybe he does?
“How exactly will she do that, Madina?” Puzzled eyes meet mine and I explain, “How will your mother get Adaora and Lance together?”
She bites her lower lip and frowns before looking at the penny cake. When her gaze returns to me, I offer an encouraging smile.
That loosens her troubled expression. “Mama has a plan. She always does.” She runs a hand down the length of her braid and glances at the paired couple’s table. “She likes to say, ‘Love always finds a way’.”
Bel lets out an exasperated sigh. She’s not one for sappy emotions like love and the like. Come to think of it, that’s probably why her temper’s been high today. She hates attending pairing ceremonies and weddings.
“Yes, Madina,” I say, pushing away my thoughts of Bel. “Your mother’s right. Love will always find a way.”
She beams with umber eyes that match her dress. Golden flecks sparkle within their depths. “Can I have this penny cake?” She asks, sweetly. I return her smile.
“Come on, Bel,” I slide away from the table leaving Madina to enjoy her treat. I catch Bel’s eye roll as she arrives by my side. Our arms interlock as we make our way to our table on the other side of the cavernous room. From here, I see Bel’s mom chuckle at something. Aunty Tari is always laughing at something. Managing the many restorers her nome trains and ensuring that her family’s business turns a profit every quarter must be daunting work, but she does it with a smile. To her left is her husband. He’s guffawing with relish. As his nome’s Titan, Uncle Eustace spends his time in laboratories creating innovative health care techniques and devices.
Father sits on auntie’s right-hand side. He isn’t laughing as heartily as Bel’s parents, but his face is much less stern that it can often be. Whatever was said must have been truly hilarious to do that.
“You two look like you’re up to something.” One of Bel’s older sisters, Kilali, asks as we approach.
Dan, her oldest brother, turns to squint at us with an accusatory gaze. “They’re definitely up to no good, sis.” His gruff voice carries and a few people at a nearby table look in our direction.
Bel’s other brother, Priye, pokes his head out past Dan. He regards us with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. “Dan’s right, our little sisters are absolutely up to no good.”
Even though I’m a bit embarrassed by how loud they are, I can’t help but smile. Their comments also manage to prompt a chuckle from Bel. As an only child from a tiny family, Bel and her siblings have been the family I’ve never had. Their constant ribbing and teasing has been a constant in my life. Having spent most of our lives together either at their extensive property in Pernold, or mine in Ekebati, I’m used to it and cherish the attention.
There’s an exception to every rule, though and that’s their older sister, Olia. She’s the first born and as such, her nome’s scioness. When Bel and I were younger, she insisted we always refer to her formally - Scioness Olia Mezan. If we didn’t, she’d twist our wrists and pinch on the inside of our forearms.
I’m glad she’s not at the table with her dour attitude. She sits, instead, at Lance and Enyama’s table having been paired with Lance’s brother Hogan almost six months ago. Their pairing has gone well for them as individuals as well as their families, who both project an additional profit as a consequence. Aunty Tari, says their wedding will take place in about four months-time.
“Tell us,” Priye says, “what have you been doing?”
I stick out my tongue at him.
“Believe me, I had nothing to do with it this time. This one here is shameless,” Bel points at me. “Her scheme included feeding a young girl Pomrose and a penny cake.”
; Dan and Priye exchange a glance. “What’s wrong with that?” Priye says.
Bel extricates herself from me, her hands flying to her hips. “Oh, I forgot to mention that the Pomrose was alcoholic and the girl in question is only ten.”
There’s a brief pause before Dan, Priye and Kilali laugh uncontrollably. I want to join them but Bel gives us all a murderous glare.
“It’s not funny.” Bel says. However, she now has a hint of laughter in her voice.
“Okay, Neith. That’s a new low, even for you.” Priye says, wiping tears from his cheeks.
I muster up my most angelic expression and an innocent voice to match. “I needed information and I did what it took to get it.”
“Spoken like a true Reffour.” Dan says with a grin, continuing to snicker.
My eyes land on the other Reffour at the table. My father. He’s listening intently to Aunty Tari, seemingly unaware of the discussion at our end of the table.