Betrothed

by Jill Myles

  “I’ve heard,” the guard said, leaning in, his fetid breath hot against her neck, “that you Vidari girls like to be taken roughly… and you fight the whole time. I think I’d like that—”

  “Faren,” the second guard spoke up, returning. “Lady Mila is here.”

  The guard straightened and turned away from Seri, his hand moving to the respectful gesture of touching his forehead at the sight of a lady. “Lady de Vray,” he said, stepping away. “We did not think that she was telling the truth. That you would—”

  “What you think is not my concern.” Lady Mila de Vray stood at the gates, a welcome figure despite the proud look on her face. She was dressed in an impractical white dress of flowing silk, three women lingering behind her, fussing over her hem, and ensuring that it never touched the dirt at her feet. She was cold, beautiful, and foreign.

  Seri had never been so glad to see an Athonite in her life. Furthermore, she was pleased to see that the lady’s scathing looks were not saved for Vidari alone.

  Lady Mila eyed the crude soldier and then dismissed him with a flick of her eyes. Her gaze rested on Seri, but only for a heartbeat longer. “My newest handmaiden is here, I see.” She looked over at the simpering soldiers. “I should like for her to be cleaned and then escorted to my apartments. See to it.”

  A grin broke across the soldier’s face, just as panic set into Seri’s heart. “Yes, lady,” he announced, terrible pleasure in his voice.

  “Not you, fool,” Lady Mila snapped. “My handmaid Winna will see to the girl. You will ascertain that neither Winna nor the new girl are accosted by any other savages in their duties. I do not trust these wild lands.” With a haughty sniff, Lady Mila disappeared back into the palace gates, trailed by her retinue. A young woman remained behind, her black hair pulled up severely on her head and the same austere, arrogant look on her face that Lady Mila wore.

  “Well?” Winna spoke in a thin, nasal voice, regarding Seri as she might a dog. “Filth does not clean itself. The sooner we get started, the sooner we can dress you in something appropriate and less vulgar.”

  The handmaid’s dress, Seri noted, was long and swept the ground, revealing not even her shoes. The collar of it was high and tight, the sleeves long. Her skin was hidden from the chin down, and tiny beads of sweat glimmered on her brow, thanks to the heat of the Vidara lands.

  Her hopes fell at the sight of the severe, overdressed woman. Is that what she had to look forward to for the next few days?

  Three dru, she reminded herself. Rilen’s information.

  She pasted a fake smile on her face and touched her forehead in the same gesture of respect that the men used. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

  “Indeed,” Winna said.

  ~~* * * ~~

  Being “cleaned,” Seri learned, was a humiliating process all on its own. As she stood in the entryway to the stable, Winna dumped another bucket of water over her head and handed her soap. “Again,” the woman instructed her for the third time. “Wash your skin again. It still looks dirty.”

  Seri’s skin smarted after being scrubbed so many times. She handed the soap back to Winna, trying to keep the expression on her face pleasant. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but that is my natural color. Not dirt.” The strongest Athoni soap in the land wouldn’t change her sunbrowned skin to a milky night-pale like Winna’s.

  In response, the handmaid snorted inelegantly and tossed another bucket of water in Seri’s face. “If you want to remain covered in filth, so be it.”

  Gasping in shock at the cold, Seri crossed her arms over her chest for warmth and to hide her flesh from the too-interested soldiers that loitered nearby. Her thin, threadbare linen dress was clinging to her body like a second skin. She shoved a wet handful of hair out of her eyes and scowled at Winna. “I assure you that I bathe on a regular basis. This is…” She struggled to find a polite word. “…unnecessary.”

  And if that sour-faced girl tossed another bucket of water in her face, she’d throw her down in the mud, Athonite or no.

  “My lady values cleanliness,” Winna responded. “It would bring shame upon her name for you to trail filth through her apartments.”

  Before Seri could respond to such a ringing endorsement, Winna flicked a hand in Seri’s direction. “Follow me.” Without bothering to see if she was followed, the woman took off across the courtyard, her steps exacting and unerring.

  Mystified by Winna’s abrupt change, Seri wrapped her arms around her wet dress to conceal her body, trailing behind her. The handmaiden led her across the courtyard in precise, unhurried footsteps, through the large stone gates and up a narrow flight of stairs.

  The castle itself was a marvel to her farm-born eyes. She had heard the ancient stories of the builders, but never in her lifetime had the keep been inhabited. She’d never dreamed that she’d enter the halls on her own. They were breathtaking—cool marble soared overhead, and striations of varying color allowed the eye to float upward to the arching ceiling covered with colored frescoes. Beneath her bare feet, orderly squares of marble patterned across the floor, so different from the dirt floor of her small farmhouse.

  There were enormous windows set in the walls of the castle—she’d seen their beautiful, expensive glass from outside—but strangely enough, all the windows were hung with heavy fabric even in the sunny morning-time and not an ounce of natural light leaked in. Instead, wax candles dripped from nearby candelabras, filling the castle halls with shadow. It seemed an odd—and costly—choice, given the bright sun overhead. Perhaps the Athonites did not like the sunlight, she mused. They feared it would turn them as brown as herself.

  The grandeur took her breath away. It almost made her forget that the enemy—the Athoni Prince of the Blood—lived here and lorded over them.

  Winna led her down endless hallways filled with people—Athoni castle servants, if their plain dress and pale skin was any indication. It didn’t matter that they were servants—they still turned their noses up at her, a dripping-wet Vidari girl in their midst. She forced herself to keep her gaze on Winna’s arrow-straight back as the handmaid led her through the maze of prying eyes.

  Up two flights of sweeping stairs, they came to wait outside a large double door made of wood that was no doubt from the hill-country across the valley and imported long ago. Seri’s family’s land had very few trees on it and was nothing but rolling hills, like most of the Vidari territory.

  Winna knocked, and the door was opened by another servant who gave Seri a bug-eyed stare. “What have you got there?”

  “Mistress’s orders,” Winna replied coolly, pushing past the woman and flicking for Seri to follow her again. “Is the mistress abed?”

  “She is,” the woman said, opening the door wide so Seri would not touch her. “Everyone is awake, per the mistress’s orders.” The woman stifled a yawn.

  Feeling like a stray dog, Seri slunk in after Winna and waited, her cheeks burning. What sort of lazy noblewoman lay abed at noontime? Were all the Athonites like that?

  The woman gasped in alarm when Seri’s dress dripped a trail on the thick, plush carpeting of the room, and Winna’s narrow eyes turned to Seri once more.

  “Take off your dress,” she instructed.

  Seri clutched the worn, soaked garment close to her and shook her head. She didn’t want to give up her only garment. To be in the enemy’s castle was bad enough, but to be naked as well? The thought was horrid.

  Winna’s grim expression did not change. She snapped her fingers at the servant behind Seri. “Get one of my lady’s towels—an old one, if you please, since we’ll have to discard it later.” Her cool, black-eyed gaze appraised Seri anew. “I realize that your people have no manners at all, but my lady has costly things here, and you will not ruin them with your heathen, uncouth ways. When they bring you the towel, you will remove your clothing and change. I assure you that my lady will have new clothing for you to wear.”

  Three dru, she reminded herself, biting back
the retort that rose in her throat. Seri took the towel that was handed to her and undressed. Wrapped in the warmth of the soft cloth, she had to force herself not to finger the fine weave of the fabric—if this was an “old” towel, Seri’s plain, homespun linen clothing must be laughable indeed. She flushed with humiliation.

  The servant took the discarded dress away with a wrinkled nose, and Seri was left with Winna once more. “Come,” the handmaiden said, tilting her head and gesturing toward another set of double doors that waited beyond the plush carpets and sitting tables of the room they stood in.

  Beyond the second set of double doors lay an immense apartment, bigger than the barn that housed Rilen’s livestock. Soaring walls were decorated with pretty splashes of vivid silks, and mirrors dotted the way between. Thick, colorful rugs covered the floor and hung from the walls, obscuring the windows. Lit sconces decorated the room, and a large brazier glowed at the end of a large dais, upon which a heavy, canopied bed loomed.

  It was here that Lady Mila relaxed, gently fanned by a servant as she nibbled on a plate of grapes.

  She perked up at the sight of Winna and swung her legs off the edge of the bed, sauntering over with a yawn. “So it’s true, then? You came after all?” Her eyes focused on Seri’s face and she gave a catlike smile of pleasure. “How lovely.”

  Winna bowed to Lady Mila and stepped aside, her eyes hot on the two of them.

  Seri offered the woman a faint smile and remained still. When Winna curtsied again as a hint, Seri’s smile grew a little more forced, a little stiffer.

  If anything, the gleeful look on Lady Mila’s face increased. “You will not bow?”

  Her breath caught in her throat. Would she be turned away, naked and penniless? “I will not.”

  “Excellent,” Mila said, her eyes gleaming. “I vow that that will catch the prince’s eye if nothing else.” The lady waved her hand negligently. “And I will not need you for a full week. Less than that, I imagine. Lady Aynee has arrived with the prince, so the Ceremony will be held the day after. You shall be free to go once it is done.”

  A bit shorter than Rilen would have liked, Seri imagined, but she was relieved. She’d have the three dru in a matter of days and be free of these oppressive, hateful people soon enough.

  “Lady Aynee is important?” she asked calmly, trying to understand the meaning behind Lady Mila’s contemptuous words.

  The woman gave Seri a cross look. “The prince thinks so, but not the rest of us, and not for much longer. She has been his lover for some months now, which means that he should kick her from his bed once his hunger appears again.”

  Before Seri could ask what she meant, Lady Mila continued. “The betrothal ceremony will be held this year for the prince—and rumor has it that he will cast aside Lady Aynee soon after and choose a new lover. That, inasmuch as the ceremony, is why the entire court has dragged itself out to this godforsaken bit of country. The king has given him leave to marry after this ceremony,” she said, as if imparting a great secret. Her look suggested that Seri should be thrilled with this bit of information.

  “And you wish to be his wife,” Seri said carefully, trying to follow Mila’s thoughts.

  The smug smile declared that she had chosen correctly. “I intend to flaunt my beauty before him and catch his eye once and for all. Lady Aynee is but a lesser noble, after all, and I am the daughter of a great and powerful landowner.” She gave a haughty sniff and then looked over Seri, as if noticing that the Vidari woman stood, wet and nearly naked, in the middle of her lush apartments. “Do you have no clothes, girl?”

  Surprised, Seri looked to Winna.

  The maid responded with a haughty sniff. “My lady, her garments were unacceptable. I informed her that we would have new clothing for her.”

  “Quite so,” Lady Mila agreed, tilting her beautiful head to regard Seri. “For now, you may clothe her in one of the servant dresses. I have something more spectacular planned for the ceremony itself.”

  And with a flick of the elegant lady’s hand, Seri was dismissed.

  ~~* * * ~~

  Several hours later, Seri sat in the kitchens, stuffing her face full of warm stew and buttered rolls. Enemy though they may be, there was plenty of food to be had in the castle kitchens for both servant and lord alike, and the talk was free and loose. The other servants did not speak to her, of course—her darker skin marked her apart as surely as her manners would. As she sipped a mug of warmed ale, Seri sat and listened to everything around her as the women gossiped about the upcoming ceremony and the ladies at the castle who had arrived to try their chances at winning the prince’s interest.

  Seri mopped the last of her stew with a biscuit and sighed at the sight of her clean bowl. She could have eaten more but no more was offered to her. The cook distinctly avoided making eye contact once she realized that Seri was not going to leave as soon as she was served.

  “Here,” a friendly voice called to her side, and Seri looked up into the smiling young face of a kitchen maid. The woman nudged a second stew bowl in front of her. “You look like you could use a bit more to eat. Are all your people as skinny as yourself?” The girl smiled, showing a flash of white teeth broken by a wide gap between the front ones. She had frizzy brown hair and freckles and a round, appealing face that called to Seri’s loneliness.

  She took the bowl with gratitude and smiled at the young woman. “The ones who cannot afford to eat well, yes, I do imagine they’re as skinny as myself.” Seri smiled to take the sting out of her words and shoveled another hot mouthful between her lips. “Thank you for the food.”

  The girl grinned. “Plenty to go around. I’m Idalla. Got here just a few weeks ago in preparation of the lord’s coming. You’re one of the… locals?”

  “Vidari,” Seri agreed. “We were here before the lords came,” she said, trying to keep the sour note out of her voice. It wasn’t the girl’s fault that the Athoni kings had decided to conquer Vidari lands. “Will you follow when the prince and his court leave again, Idalla?”

  Idalla laughed. “Oh, the prince is not leaving, girl. He’s here to stay.”

  Seri’s stomach churned at that careless bit of information. Athonites here… forever?

  “Too many uprisings in the area,” Idalla prattled on. “The prince is here to take a firm hand with the… natives.” Her friendly smile died when she realized who she spoke to. “My apologies.”

  “It’s all right.” Seri stirred her stew and gave her a faint smile. “Common folk like you and I have nothing to do with the wars of the nobility.” She mentally stored the distressing tidbit and wondered how to tell Rilen. He’d be terribly upset once he found out that the prince’s visit was not to be a visit after all. A permanent residence meant troops and guardsmen by the hundreds crawling all over Vidari lands. Forever.

  Her heart sank, and she forced herself to spoon another mouthful of the delicious stew to her lips. It didn’t taste quite the same now.

  Idalla pulled up a stool next to Seri. “I told my father that I wanted nothing to do with the new castle, but he likes to serve the prince—one of his stable masters, my father is—and so if the prince is off to the wild lands, well, so are we.” She nodded as if that was decided and took a warm biscuit in her hands, tearing it apart and taking a bite out of one side. “So what brings one of your kind to the midst of ours? I can’t think you’d be happy to see us here.”

  “I’m not,” Seri agreed with a faint smile. “But Lady Mila offered me three dru to be her servant for a few days, so I could not pass up the offer.”

  “Three dru?” Idalla whistled. “That’s a hefty sum, though I imagine it’s cheap change to one of her kind. They say her father owns more lands that the king himself, though I can’t see how that’s possible. So you’re just here until the ceremony, then?”

  Seri nodded and wiped a bit of spilled stew off the front of her good woolen gown. Servant garb though it might be, it was finer than her own homespun article, and she felt obligat
ed to keep it in fine shape. “I’m afraid that the whole ceremony is a bit mystifying to me. Lady Mila and Winna are not very clear about what it means. Just that it’s important.”

  “I imagine so. Got ice in her veins, that one.”

  Seri chuckled. “Which one? Lady Mila or Winna?”

  Idalla snorted. “Both, if you ask me.” At Seri’s returning smile, she continued. “So you haven’t heard about the betrothal ceremony for the Eterna? Do they not do such things amongst your people?”

  “I don’t know what it is, so I’m afraid I cannot say.” Seri shrugged. “We have special ceremonies for births and deaths and handfastings.”

  “I imagine it’s a bit like a handfasting,” Idalla said, leaning in and lowering her voice as one of the cooks brushed past her and gave her a particularly vicious look. “The prince hails from a long line of the Athoni Blood.” She gave Seri a serious look. “The royalty, the Blood… they… they’re different from you and me.” Idalla blinked, studying Seri’s face. “Do you understand what I am saying?”

  “Oh, I know,” Seri said. She’d seen from a distance how different the Athonites were from her own people. An Athoni noble? As different as night and day. “I’m still adjusting to the fact that everyone sleeps in the daytime and stays up all night.”

  Idalla looked relieved—and a bit surprised—at Seri’s easy acceptance. “They told you? You know? All right, well, the princes of the Blood only produce sons. Every ten years, a ceremony is held to determine who the prince shall marry. The ceremony is a betrothal.”

  That seemed odd to Seri. Only sons? Perhaps the Athoni nobles had bred too close for too long. Strange, but what wasn’t strange in this candlelit castle?

  At Seri’s perplexed look, Idalla continued. “The holiest priests of the land are brought in for the Eterna ceremony, and the most eligible ladies of the court as well. The prince stands and awaits the goddess’s blessing as the priests call down, begging for her favor to return.”