Betrothed (6 page)

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.

Thinking of the three
dru
depressed her. To come so close to the coin and not walk away with it? Briefly she entertained the idea of seeing this mad scheme of Lady Mila’s through. It’d be humiliating, without a doubt. She’d have to endure the women’s haughty sniffs and whispers about her savagery and endure the men’s leers at her half-clad body. But at the end of the night, she’d have her money and she’d be free.

“Shall I put the wreath in your hair?” One of the timid women asked.

Damn the gods, but she was going to take the money after all. Seri exhaled her pent-up breath, steeling herself for the evening. “Might as well. I’m not leaving until I get paid.”

~~* * * ~~

Lady Mila was a vision in her golden dress, and she had artfully arranged a few long, golden plumes in her dark hair, tying her dress’s theme to Seri’s garish costume. She didn’t seem surprised to see Seri return, just nodded acknowledgment of her costume and eyed her. “Her skin doesn’t stand out enough,” she complained to Winna. “Dust her with the gold powder and let us see if that improves her tone.”

Determined not to say anything more, Seri allowed the two women to fuss over her appearance until she was artfully covered in gold dust and met their approval. Her hair was fluffed and coaxed until it floated around her head like a golden nimbus, emphasizing the green of her eyes. “Very nice,” Lady Mila approved. “Very savage and wild. I shall be the talk of the betrothal ceremony.”

And I shall be free soon
, Seri thought with relief.

Winna shook a pouch in Seri’s face. “Your three
dru
, just as promised.” When Seri reached for it, she held it away from her. “You will receive it after the ceremony. At that time, your services will no longer be needed and you shall be free to return to your people. See that you do not trouble Lady Mila again.”

So that was how she was to be treated, then. Like a stray dog that was no longer wanted once it was found rabid. It suited her just fine, even if it meant walking home in the middle of the night, alone and dressed like a fool. Perhaps she’d see Rilen lurking near the castle gates and he’d be able to walk her home. He’d chide her—angry, she’d imagine—for letting them make a spectacle out of her, but he didn’t have to worry about what his family would eat the next day.

He’d be terribly upset that she hadn’t managed to learn anything much about the Athoni plans. Lady Mila had kept her so busy she hadn’t had time to skulk around the castle and eavesdrop on conversations.

And then the golden cords were wrapped about her fingers, digging into her flesh, and Lady Mila’s retinue was ready to leave.

Their small party made their way through the palace halls, well lit despite the late-night hour, but deserted, which seemed odd to Seri. “Lady Mila wishes to make a fashionable entrance,” Winna explained at Seri’s questioning look. “We are arriving late, but just in time for the ceremony.”

Seri nodded, her concentration on keeping her hands steady and the skirts flowing like a beautiful waterfall. “Is there anything I need to do for the ceremony?”

Lady Mila lazily waved a feathered hand fan. “Just continue to hold my skirts, stay out of the way, and look as wild and uncouth as possible.” She swept down the grand staircase on quick feet, leaving Seri racing to keep up with her.

“Shall I snarl at them, my lady?” Seri teased, wanting to laugh at the ludicrousness of the entire evening. Surely the woman couldn’t be serious.

“If you feel it appropriate,” Lady Mila said, her voice distracted as the hum of voices in the distance increased.

Seri’s eyes were drawn to the floor they descended to. She remembered this—the grand hallway floors were covered with delicate blue tiles, blue tiles that could hardly be seen beyond the crush of people. Fear choked Seri and she forgot all the teasing she meant to needle Lady Mila with as the sea of faces turned toward them and she found herself the focus of attention.

Part of her longed to draw in her shoulders, to hunch down behind Mila’s voluminous skirts and hope nobody noticed her in her flimsy, skin-baring outfit. She forced herself to stand tall, a thin sneer pinned to her frightened lips.

She’d show them that her people were proud, no matter how they tried to humiliate her.

The whispers began as soon as Lady Mila crossed the threshold of the ballroom.
Savage
, she could hear them whisper.
Wild girl. Vidari
, but on fewer tongues. And Lady Mila was right—all eyes were on her.

She ignored the faces that swam before her, her eyes focused on the crush in the ballroom. She’d seen the room once in passing while running errands for Winna. Then it had been empty, a silent, grand testament to the new culture that was invading the Vidari lands. Moonlight-glazed windows trailed across the walls and fluted high to the ceiling, all covered with a heavy red fabric that had been pulled back to reveal the stars. Candles blazed overhead in ornate candelabras.

Flooded in this pale, golden candlelight was the prince himself. Seri squinted to get a better look at him, curiosity getting the better of her. If they were going to gawk at her, she’d gawk right back.

It was him—the arrogant, beautiful nobleman.

He was like a marble statue in the flickering shadows. Fine, chiseled features stared down at the packed, rainbow-hued crowd without a hint of emotion. His dark hair was impeccably brushed—and cut, she noticed—and he nodded every now and then to the nobles who approached him, but said nothing.

He looked, Seri thought, rather ill-at-ease and uncomfortable with all the pomp before him. Sad. Alone in a sea of people. Not that it made her like him any more than before. The man was still a callous boor.

But, how was this arrogant, lonely man the prince? “Lady Mila,” she began.

The woman turned to look back at her with a vicious glance. “Do not speak unless I have commanded you to, girl.” She jerked on her skirts, the wire cords ripping into Seri’s hands. “Understand?”

Seri bit back the angry retort, thinking of the money that Winna had withheld from her. She nodded instead, swallowing her questions and turning back to the dais. Perhaps she’d simply misunderstood Idalla’s explanation. The man on the dais couldn’t be but a year or two older than herself.

Behind him on the dais stood several people dressed in long, flowing yellow robes edged with green. Their faces were serene, and they were devoid of any of the pompous trappings that Lady Mila and the other nobles adorned themselves with. Seri wondered who they were and what importance they held.

The ballroom was packed, and to her amusement, Seri noticed more women scattering the floor than men—almost double. Each woman was intricately done up in her finest garb, and hairstyles were elegant upsweeps. Lady Mila stood out in her gown of gold and her feathers, and she knew it. The smile on her face was gracious, a smile that Seri hadn’t seen in the past few days.

The room was so crowded that Seri was having a difficult time keeping her hands flexed and extended to carry Lady Mila’s skirts properly. When a young lord cut her off by accident, she gave him a fierce glare. To her surprise, he backed away from her and into a covey of nearby ladies. Her lips twitched into a satisfied smile.

A flash of red skirt passed them, and Seri craned her head, desperate to get a good look at Lady Mila’s hated rival, the fabled Lady Aynee. The woman in the red dress was beautiful, Seri admitted grudgingly. Her face was a sweet oval framed by long, dark lashes and perfect features, and her moon-pale hair was done in a flattering cascade of curls over her bare shoulder. Her red dress was vivid, the collar chokingly high and modest. Seri’s lips twisted. No wonder the prince was in love with the woman. As she watched, the lady turned toward the dais at the far end of the crowded ballroom and a possessive smile curved her mouth.

She must not be too worried about Lady Mila’s claim tonight
, Seri thought to herself with satisfaction and guided the skirts in her hands past a throng of young noblemen. A hand reached out to brush at her bare back and Seri jumped in alarm, turning to glance behind her. As she watched, one nobleman made a lascivious gesture at her.

They were no better than the common soldiers in the yard. Furious at being treated like a whore, she was tempted to drop Lady Mila’s fine skirts and confront the man.

A hush fell over the crowd, and Seri forgot everything she was about to do. Even the music stopped playing. Her eyes focused again on the dais at the far end of the room where the prince stood, now flanked by the two mysterious people in the yellow robes.

As she watched, the crowd parted and swept to the sides of the hall. Confused, she looked to Lady Mila, and when the woman motioned that they should follow, she obeyed. It made the crush at the sides of the room that much worse, and Seri found her bare skin pressed up against another woman rather uncomfortably.

An intricately carved seat was moved to the front of the dais, and the prince sat there, looking out over the crowd that jostled before him, his face stern and rigid.

“Let the ladies of the kingdom be presented for the betrothal ceremony,” the two priests intoned as one. “May His Grace be blessed by the might and wisdom of the High One this day.”

So, the ceremony was about to start. Seri heard the woman behind her squeal with excitement. “The prince will be free to choose his bride after this final ceremony. Do you think he will select Lady Aynee or someone else?”

“Aynee looks old tonight,” one of the other women muttered. “She’s pushing three score years. Mark my words, he’ll get himself a younger bride than that.”

“What if someone is chosen to be his betrothed tonight,” a young voice behind her asked. “You know, like the old stories say? What happens then? How will we tell?”

One of the women gave an unladylike snort. “It won’t happen. It didn’t happen for Prince Velair and he’s far more handsome than Prince Graeme. He’s too proud for his own good, especially considering that he is nothing but a younger son.”

He did look overly proud, Seri thought with a prejudiced smile. At least these silly women were right about something.

“And the ceremony?”

“I heard that if the gods choose a bride for him, the lights of the heavens will shine down. That’s all I know.”

Seri would have loved to hear more from the silly babble of the women, but the crowd surged forward and Lady Mila gave Seri an irritated look when she bumped into her. “Not so close, wild girl. Keep your distance. And remember, look unapproachable. We want to create a mysterious image.”

She bared her teeth at the noblewoman and was rewarded with a startled flip of Lady Mila’s fan. “That is better,” the noblewoman agreed, eyeing Seri. “Now watch closely and see how he reacts to all the women. Last year he showed no preference at all, but that was before Lady Aynee got her hooks into him.” She flipped her fan neatly and rapped Seri under the chin. “We’re going to try to go up as late as possible so as to make the best impression. Understand me?”

Seri gave a curt nod, trying not to let her disappointment show. Every moment at this affair felt like torture. At least her gown was a flimsy one—the packed room was stifling hot, and she watched a nearby woman pat her forehead with a square of white linen, blotting beads of sweat.