by Jill M Beene
“Making a run for it, girl?” Peg asked, grinning.
“Just for tonight,” Samiris said, taking off her earrings. “What will these buy?”
Peg looked down at the glittering clusters Samiris had thrust into her weathered hand.
“Whatever you want,” she said.
“Two meat pies, and two bottles of your best booze.”
Peg winked. “You’ll be wanting the apple brandy.” She ducked in and reemerged a couple of minutes later with two hot, paper-wrapped parcels and two dusty brown bottles. The bartender shoved them in a burlap sack and handed it over.
Samiris gave Peg a quick hug. “We were never here, no matter who comes looking for us.”
Samiris mounted Behemoth. They broke into a trot just as they heard fast-approaching hoofbeats in the distance.
“Alright, Bemee,” Samiris said to the horse, giving him a new nickname. “Time to earn your carrots.”
Whether Behemoth liked carrots or if he just liked to run, Samiris didn’t know, but he kept them out of sight of the approaching riders until they were well past the village, out on a rarely-used trail that led to another secret, hidden cove.
Samiris and Cyra picnicked in the sand, watching the moonlight play over the ripples in the water and listening to the waves foam and recede at the edge of the shore. They sat cross-legged and side by side. The meat pies were fragrant with thyme and rosemary, and the apple brandy delicious.
“I’ve never done something like this before,” Cyra admitted, taking another sip of brandy.
“The drinking, or the running away?” Samiris sucked her fingers clean of meat juice.
“Breaking the rules.”
“You always do what people tell you to?”
“Until now, yes,” Cyra said.
“What made you change your mind this time?”
“What you said.... about freedom. I’ve never had any before.”
Samiris grinned and took another swig of brandy. “Freedom tastes delicious, doesn’t it?”
Cyra smiled. “It does.”
“What are you going to do after all of this is over?” Samiris said after a bout of silence.
“If I make it back, I might marry. I might not. Things are hard in the South. Producing children isn’t encouraged.”
The way she said ‘if’ made Samiris pause. Cyra spoke like she didn’t think she would come back from Teymara at all. The reminder that one of the Chosen wouldn’t survive was a sobering thought. Samiris took another glug from her bottle to help swallow the fear.
“I have to get married,” Samiris admitted. “Because I have no brothers.”
“I’ve got three of them, and you’re welcome to any one of them you’d like.”
Samiris laughed. “Are any of them handsome?”
“I suppose they are, but they’re very strict, very concerned with duty. None of them would let their wife sit on the beach and drink brandy. They’d probably whip you.”
“I’d like to see them try,” Samiris said grimly, clenching her bottle of brandy at the thought.
“You’ve got spirit, I’ll give you that. You might feel differently if you grew up with them, if you had the father I did.”
Samiris gave her a sideways glance. “You don’t have to go back, you know. You’re very beautiful. I’m sure a dozen Northern lords will propose marriage by the time you have to leave Teymara.”
“Perhaps.”
They laughed as they drank, finally reclining back into the sand to stare up at the stars as they talked. As the sun lightened the sky in the east, Samiris relaxed with the knowledge that she had at least one friend alongside her on this journey.
CHAPTER NINE
Samiris was on a small fishing boat with Kalan. The sun was dim and pleasant, the waves rocked slightly beneath her, and the wind sighed in her hair. It was time to tell him the truth.
“I’m sorry,” she told him gently. “I don’t love you.”
“Why not?” he asked sarcastically, more abrupt than she had ever heard him speak. His voice was deeper, more masculine than it had been before.
“You’re not strong enough for me.”
“Hate to break it to you, but you’re heavier than you look,” Artem’s acerbic voice replied.
Samiris cracked her eyes open, then immediately slammed them shut against the marauding sun.
“Oh, no,” she mumbled.
“You’d better believe it,” Artem said with relish.
He was carrying her up the beach trail, toward a waiting carriage. She supposed she should feel mortified that she wore only a corset and bloomers. But the feelings of illness and the swirling pounding in her head demanded as much attention as Lady Elise at a dinner table. It felt like Behemoth himself was thundering round and round through her head.
“Put me down; I’m going to be sick.”
Artem swung her upright so quickly that Samiris had no choice but to grasp his upper arms to remain standing. The earth was spinning and tilting under her. She managed to prop her palms on her knees and lean over before she was violently sick in the bushes. She heard Artem sigh, then felt him gathering her hair back away from her face.
“Good heavens, you’ve got a ton of hair,” he said.
“I’m sorry?” Samiris replied, wiping her mouth with the back of one hand. She stayed as she was; she wasn’t confident that her stomach was finished with its abrupt evacuation.
“Never mind,” Artem mumbled.
“Where’s Cyra?”
“She managed to get herself up to the carriage all by herself. I think she is stronger than she looks.”
“I believe that,” Samiris said, righting herself shakily. After their conversation last night, Samiris thought that Cyra had a spine as strong as iron.
“What happened to your earrings?” Artem said.
“I drank them,” Samiris whispered, her eyes closed as she rubbed her temples.
Artem laughed, a booming sound that Samiris thought was calculated to exacerbate her headache as much as it was to mock her.
“Where’s Bemee?” Samiris asked as she made her up the trail slowly.
“Who?”
“Your horse.”
Artem scoffed. “You gave him a nickname?”
“I think he likes it.”
Artem chuckled. “Like any other male, he’d let two pretty girls in their underwear call him anything.”
Samiris rolled her eyes, then winced.
Artem continued, “He’s down on the beach, prancing around in the water. After I get you to the carriage, I’ll have to go back and get him.”
“Why don’t you just call him?”
“As good as he is, he refuses to come when he’s called. I’ve had him for twenty-something years now, and I’ve tried everything. I think he’s a bit stupid in that regard.”
“That horse is anything but stupid. You probably just haven’t found the right motivation,” Samiris said.
“You don’t understand. There is nothing that horse wants more than to ignore me when I call him.”
Samiris smirked. “I like him more and more all the time.”
Artem snorted. “Hurry up. We need to get you up to the house so you can finish packing. We leave this morning.”
Samiris scowled. “You cannot be serious. In the state we’re in?”
Artem helped her into the carriage. “You did this to yourself. If I made allowances for you, I’d just be encouraging bad behavior. Now get up to the house and wash the smell of booze off of you before Lady Elise finds out.” He snapped the door shut behind her and the carriage was in motion instantly, as if the driver was afraid the girls would bolt if he lingered for even a second.
True to Artem’s word, they left that morning. When it came time for farewells, Samiris clasped Tamrah to her che
st and closed her eyes, inhaling her sister’s familiar scent as if she held a wildflower to her nose.
“Write to me every week,” Samiris said. “I’ll worry if I don’t hear from you.”
“I will, but we will be fine.” Tamrah’s eyes were dewy with tears. “Just focus on making the Crown Prince fall in love with you.”
Samiris shook her head and whispered her greatest fear. “I don’t know that I have it in me to love, Magpie.”
Tamrah shook her head and gave Samiris an extra squeeze. “You are the most loving person I know.”
Samiris frowned. Tamrah was kind, but above all, she was honest. Samiris had never known her to give a false compliment. Before Samiris could refute the words, Tamrah let her go and stepped back.
Samiris turned to her father. In the bustle of packing and the loading of trunks, he had made his way downstairs. Someone had brought his wheelchair down for him to rest in. It couldn’t have been Tamrah; her sister wasn’t strong enough. Samiris worried briefly about who would bring it back upstairs for him, and she bit her lip.
She leaned down and hugged him fiercely. “I will be back soon, Father.”
“Not too soon, my love,” he said, patting her cheek gently.
She took the steps to the carriage quickly. Now that the goodbyes were completed, she wanted to start the journey. The sooner they were off, the sooner she would be back.
The coach’s interior was a dark cocoon of plush velvet and thick carpeting. Brass buttons were sunk so deep into dark green cushions that they were barely visible, looking like the glowing eyes of small creatures taking shelter in a bush. Thick tasseled curtains draped over the glass windows, and Samiris pushed one of them back to get one last glimpse of her home, her family.
Tamrah stood where Samiris had left her, looking after the procession, but Samiris was surprised to see Artem wheeling her father back indoors. The coach lurched, and Samiris waved at Tamrah as the team of horses pulled her out of the drive, onto the road, and away from everything she’d ever known or loved.
CHAPTER TEN
On the velvet seat next to Lady Elise sat a large leather travelling bag, as stiff and prim as Lady Elise herself. She unzipped it with bustling movements that spoke of someone who wanted attention, so Samiris looked pointedly out the window.
“Now that we’re on the road, it is time to begin your education,” Lady Elise said, pulling two red, leather-bound books from her bag. She handed one to each of them, and somehow rapidly fluttered her eyelashes without fully opening her eyes.
Samiris flipped open the scarlet cover of her book and read the first page. Section I- Standards for Behavior and Dress for the Chosen, Section 2- Schedule of Activities for the Chosen, Section 3- Notable Persons, Appendix- Correctly Addressing Nobles According to Rank and Title.
Samiris raised her eyebrow. “Notable Persons?”
“Oh, you can read!” Lady Elise exclaimed, her gaunt hands splayed across her chest as if to defend herself from the shock of it. “I thought I was going to have to read the entire book to you out loud on the journey.”
Samiris’ mouth gaped. “You didn’t think we could read?”
“We’ve never had Chosen from the Southern lands before,” Lady Elise said, defensively. “Lady Cyra, can you read as well?”
Cyra nodded, her eyes narrowed.
“We had no way of knowing what you would be like,” Lady Elise said, as if that explained away her rudeness. “If it helps, you can think of yourselves as ambassadors from a foreign land.”
“We’re still Leirians,” Samiris said, her cheeks heating, her jaw clenching around the words.
“Of course,” Lady Elise said, flicking her fingers through the air as if trying to shoo a bothersome gnat. “Let’s go over the itinerary.”
Lady Elise droned on and on, explaining the standards of dress and behavior they would be expected to uphold. Samiris disengaged her brain from the conversation as easy as unhitching a wagon from a mule. Lady Elise’s voice became a constant, nagging background noise, like the droning whine of mosquitoes, as Samiris looked out the window.
Samiris had never seen much of the country, and now she was headed toward the mammoth capital city of Teymara. She knew little about it, except what she had heard from the few traders who ventured far enough south to end up perched on one of Peg’s barstools. And she had learned long ago not to trust the word of someone who was trying to sell something.
Called the jewel of Leiria, Teymara was positioned perfectly for a capital. Not only did it boast the largest inland port in the country, but it was set between high mountains to the north and south, like a jeweled necklace nestled in a woman’s bosom. Only one road led through the mountains above Teymara to the dead Fae lands, and only one road led through the mountains to Teymara’s south. The forests surrounding the roads were impassable at night because of the Northern wolves, which meant no force could sneak up on the city.
Samiris pressed her lips together tightly and wrapped her thoughts around her mind like a heavy cloak to protect her from the monotonous droning of Lady Elise. Over the next week, their procession would wind its way up from Cattulle, over one set of mountains, down into Chaikine, over another set of mountains, and into Taloome. Samiris would be getting a full view of the wasteland that used to be thriving, a tour of the destruction that had been wrought.
And she and nineteen other girls were being brought in to try and stop it. Samiris thought again of Tamrah’s words, of her sister’s hope: You could be the one, the one to make the Crown Prince love you, the one to break the curse! Those were the words that Samiris had repeated to herself while she gritted her teeth and got dressed. Those were the words she repeated in her mind now, an hour into the journey, with Lady Elise’s voice buzzing in the confined space of the carriage like an angry bee trapped in a jar.
“Did you hear what I said, Lady Samiris?” Lady Elise snapped. “Are you paying attention?”
“I’m sorry,” Samiris said, digging deep for politeness. “What did you say?”
“Haven’t you been listening? I’ve been explaining everything! It is essential that you arrive at the palace as prepared as possible for what you are about to experience.” Lady Elise said the last word with relish, anticipation. She continued on. “What was the last thing you heard?”
“Er...” Samiris stammered, looking to Cyra for help.
The pale beauty just raised an eyebrow.
“You haven’t been paying attention at all, have you? Now I am going to have to start all over, and you know how I hate to repeat myself! Pay attention this time, or I’ll have to repeat myself a third time!”
At that declaration, Cyra narrowed her eyes at Samiris and frowned. Samiris understood the message and did her best to focus.
“The first thing you need to know is the schedule. Please turn to that page.” Lady Elise waited with pursed lips until Samiris turned the crisp pages forward, and Cyra turned the pages back. “The first event is a dinner, the evening after we’re to arrive at the capital. You have both been assigned seamstresses, as you haven’t brought your own.”
“Mine was called away on urgent business,” Samiris couldn’t help but interject sarcastically. “A silk emergency.”
Lady Elise ignored Samiris’ comment and Cyra’s hand-hidden smile. “It will take a full day for them to fit a dress that is appropriate enough for a royal dinner. I suggest you use that time to... bathe.” She sniffed and continued, “You can see the rest of the first week’s itinerary in your book. Every week, a new schedule will come to your room. Your maid will also help remind you of where you are supposed to be, and when.”
“I forgot my maid, too,” Samiris said, dryly.
“One will be provided, Lady Samiris,” Lady Elise said, sounding long-suffering. “Now, as you probably have heard, although there are numerous court dances that you will be required to a
ttend...”
Here Samiris paled and gripped her book roughly. Dances?!
“...there are three main balls that mark the progress of the Choosing Season. The first one is the Opening Ball, which also marks the official beginning of Courting Season.”
“Where I come from, we only have the four seasons,” Samiris drawled, having quickly recovered from the notion of dancing. In public. “How do you keep track of all the extra ones in the North?”
Lady Elise nodded. “It is difficult, as a Northern Lady, to keep ahead of it all. That’s why it’s important to have a well-trained staff. Now, as I was saying, Courting Season is not for you, because you are one of the Chosen, and as such, are reserved for the Crown Prince.”
Samiris bristled at the notion that she was some sort of pastry set aside to be consumed by someone who may or may not wander down to her end of the buffet. Her jaw clenched.
“So you may dance, but I feel it is my duty to stress, no matter how unlikely it is that this would occur, that you cannot flirt with the other noblemen at court.”
Samiris raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. She had no desire to be courted by anyone, least of all a pampered, powdered Northern lord.
“There is also a Crown Prince’s Championship, which starts the same day as the Courting Season. It is a thrilling sequence of events designed to challenge and test the grand spirit of the young noblemen of the kingdom. The winner of the Championship is allowed to ask that he begin courting one of the Chosen, even before the Choosing Season is concluded.”
“Good heavens, who would bother trying to win that?” Samiris grumbled.
Lady Elise pressed her thin lips into a pale line, sighed and looked heavenward as if she were praying for patience. “I know you are ignorant of such things, Lady Samiris, and I am trying to make allowances for your coarse upbringing, but I feel that I should let you know that it is considered rude to interrupt someone when they are speaking.”
Samiris’ jaw dropped. She knew she was being rude. She was trying to needle the woman. It had never occurred to her that Lady Elise would think that she was ignorant instead of impertinent. Samiris closed her mouth and nodded tersely.