Stray (3 page)

Aislynn felt Tahlia's hand on her shoulder. This time she welcomed the cold—it pulled her away from her unpleasant thoughts. Once submerged in her bath, Aislynn rested her head against the smooth porcelain and slid down beneath the bubbles. Filling her ears with the soft, round sound of water, Aislynn calmed her mind with fantasies of the night ahead.

She tried to imagine the suitors Adviser Hull would present to her father. It was commonly said that men married up for power, down for beauty. Aislynn's husband would be the future king of Nepeta, and a man could forgive a lot to be king. Or so Aislynn's teachers had told her.

With the fragrant water embracing her, Aislynn imagined herself a beau who was handsome and tall, who gazed down on her with such love and affection that the entire room would stare. She imagined his cheek warm against hers.

It would have been nice to stay in the bath all day, floating among her fantasies, but there was too much to be done. Aislynn wrapped herself in her long dressing gown and stepped into her bedroom. Tahlia had cleared the untouched tray of food. She had also set out clean undergarments and stockings, which Aislynn quickly put on. It had been a long time since her fairy godmother had seen Aislynn's legs, and like the walls of her room, they were something that could not be fixed.

Spread out across the bed was the blue satin gown Adviser Hull had chosen for her. Everything followed his design, from her hairstyle to the length of her sleeves and the height of her heels. Next to the dress was the original sketch, in Adviser Hull's formal, linear style, which portrayed Aislynn with a tiny waist and hips in equal balance to her shoulders.

The corset would help, but she shuddered as she glanced at the stiff boning and silken ties draped over a chair. Next to the corset was a full underskirt so sturdy that it could stand on its own. Smoothing her hand over the dress's slippery soft fabric, Aislynn pictured a suitor taking her waist and imagined how his fingers would feel through the layers of satin and linen.

Tahlia returned. It was time to prepare. The corset was first. Taking her last deep breath of the evening, Aislynn allowed her fairy godmother to begin lacing up the stiff contraption. With each tug, she reminded herself that a smaller waist might garner more dance requests.

Those who were kind would say that, in looks, Aislynn was the perfect combination of her parents. While she didn't have her mother's Northern complexion, they shared the same long fingers and eggcup chin, a chin that seemed far too small for Aislynn's face. Her wavy hair and large brown eyes were an inheritance from her Western father, along with skin the color of toasted bread. But while his was lovely and smooth, her cheeks turned a splotchy red when she blushed. So while she appreciated these gifts, she couldn't help wishing that she could also have been given her mother's thinly shaped nose and her father's easy smile. Or Maris's delicate feet and Violaine's arresting eyes.

Before arriving at the academy, Aislynn had not given much thought to her looks. But students were expected to help one another recognize their flaws, both to maintain their humility and to encourage self-improvement. Aislynn's fellow classmates had been quick to point out the areas in which she was lacking.

Watching herself in the mirror as Tahlia made the final adjustments to her unruly hair, Aislynn tried to clear her mind of jealous, covetous thoughts, the same desires that undoubtedly conjured last night's dreams. She didn't need to be beautiful to get married. Maris was right. It was her royal rank that would secure her future, not her looks. And it was wrong to want what she did not need.

T
here was a sumptuous spread of food in the waiting room, but Aislynn knew it would go untouched. Her stomach rumbled traitorously, but she ignored it, searching the crowd for Maris.

Something soft danced across her nose. “Well, don't you look nice, Ashy-linn.” Violaine wore a green feather in her hair, and brandished another like a weapon. She flicked it once more across Aislynn's cheek and gave a slow
tsk
, tongue against teeth, her eyes sweeping over Aislynn's blue gown. “Well, nice for
you
, I suppose.” This caused a flurry of giggles to pass through the group of girls gathered around her, their dresses creating a cage of crinoline and satin. “However, if you ask me—”

“I didn't,” Aislynn muttered.

“If you ask me, I think you'd look much better in purple.” Violaine glanced across the room to where the fairy godmothers were standing in a silent sea of lavender.

This set off a new round of laughter, one that was cut short by the second bell, indicating that the ball was about to begin. Deep within her chest, Aislynn's kettle heart had begun to heat, so she took a slow breath and willed the magic to go away. Once it settled into a quiet hum, she joined the other girls who had just turned sixteen, keeping a good distance from Violaine and her feather.

“Ladies.” The headmistress waited for silence. Behind her was a pair of open doors leading to a staircase. At the bottom of that staircase was a silk curtain, and on the other side of that curtain was a crowded ballroom—and Aislynn's future.

Madame Odette gave the girls a smile as thin as thread. “Please join me in the prayer of gratitude.”

Crossing her wrists over her chest, Aislynn recited the familiar words.

“I am grateful for my father, who keeps me good and sweet. I am grateful for my mother, who keeps her own heart guarded and safe. I am grateful for my adviser, who keeps me protected. I am grateful for the Path, which keeps me pure. Ever after.”

“Very good.” The headmistress's grimace was almost an expression of approval. “Step forward and accept the Path's gifts.”

The first to go were the newly engaged, like Lady Sariah, who would be escorted for the first time not by her father, but by her future husband. Aislynn looked longingly at the silver band surrounding the rose on her gown.

Next were the girls who were approaching the end of their sixteenth year, most of them wearing similar expressions of anxiety and desperation. Aislynn glanced over at the fairy godmothers and balked, truly seeing for the first time how young some of them were.

Finally it was Aislynn's turn, and she obediently took what was offered to her. The glass of pure melted snow was icy against her teeth, and the sugared flower petal dissolved quickly on her tongue. She curtsied and made her way through the doors.

As she headed down the steps, she realized she could not remember what she was supposed do with her hands when she was announced. Should they be in front of her or behind? Should her fingers be linked or clasped? The curtain parted.

“Now presenting . . . Princess Aislynn of Nepeta.”

She left her hands at her sides, though they felt as awkward and stiff as branches on a barren tree. The ballroom was magnificent and imposing, candlelight flickering in time with Aislynn's pulse as hundreds of eyes turned toward her.

Her father stood waiting. She had seen him only last season but was surprised to find his hair had grayed, mostly at the temples. Aislynn thought it suited him. He wore a small smile, his mustache curving upward, but he did not look directly at her. She didn't expect him to. Taking his arm, Aislynn followed him into the ballroom.

“How are you, my dear?” His voice was quiet, and his attention seemed focused on the tapestry against the wall in front of them. It depicted the first adviser in a regal white suit, his hands gently resting on the heads of the two women who were kneeling in front of him. The fairy godmother on his right and the noblewoman on his left had their hands outstretched, their fingers just barely touching.

“I'm well,” Aislynn responded, noticing, for the first time, the serene smiles stitched on the women's faces. A chill ran up her spine, and she shuddered.

Her father glanced at her. “You look well,” he said.

“Thank you.”

Next to the tapestry was an ornately decorated map of the four kingdoms, the geography carefully detailed in colorful ink. Quickly Aislynn's eyes found her family's castle in Nepeta. Barely a hand's length away was Nerine Academy, surrounded by townships and kingdoms she knew only by name. Aislynn's entire world, it seemed, could be contained within a few inches.

Across the center of the drawing was an angry tangle of briar bushes. They cut across the mountains that touched all four kingdoms and dangerously darkened the West. This was the Midlands, ruled by the Wicked Queen, Josetta.

“Let's join your mother, shall we?” the king said, pulling Aislynn away from the map.

Everything in the ballroom was decorated for the season. At the center of each table was a wide glass bowl, filled with waxy lily pads and their spiky cream flowers. Delicate daisy garlands and pastel curtains hung corner to corner. The room was as fresh as the bright butter daffodils firmly fastened in each gentleman's lapel. Aislynn resisted the urge to adjust her father's boutonniere, which was just slightly crooked.

As Aislynn watched the swirling, colorful couples on the dance floor, her heart leaping with anticipation, Violaine crossed suddenly in front of them, her arm linked with a woman who had matching eyes.

“Truth and honesty, Violaine, you may not be as beautiful or clever as your sister, but look at these girls,” Aislynn heard the woman say. “If they're your competition, why aren't you Contained yet?”

“I'm sorry, Mother.” Violaine's head was bowed, her cheeks flushed.

“Your dance card is shrinking with each season. I don't understand. Are you being purposefully disappointing or just incompetent?” Both women looked wan in their green dresses.

“Hello, darling,” said Aislynn's mother, coming through the crowd to greet them. As Violaine and her mother moved away, the queen gave them a pitying glance. “Thank the glass slipper you look so fetching in blue.”

“Hello, Mama.” Aislynn accepted her mother's embrace, lighter than a spiderweb.

“It really is a shame when the colors of your status do nothing to elevate . . . your status.” The queen beamed at her clever turn of phrase.

“Very well said, my dear.” The king patted her hand. Glancing around the room, Aislynn was grateful not just for the flattering color she wore but also the ease with which she could determine the exact rank of the guests. Those who were second class, like her parents, wore blue; the third class dressed in green and the fourth class, like Maris, in yellow. The handful of first-class royalty wore red.

“Are you nervous?” the queen asked.

“No,” Aislynn lied. She wanted to ask her father who Adviser Hull had included on his list of suitors, but she knew her dance card would only be revealed after she was Introduced.

“Your Majesties.” Madame Odette joined their small party. She was accompanied by another woman in an identical uniform, whose face was stern and angular. They both bowed to the king and queen. For the second time that evening, a chill darted up Aislynn's spine.

“Madame Odette,” the queen said, taking the older woman's hand. “What a pleasure to see you.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” the headmistress replied, though her tone was devoid of any. “I was hoping for the opportunity to talk with your adviser. Has he arrived?”

“We haven't seen him yet. I assume he's preparing for the many Introductions he'll be facilitating tonight.” The king gave his daughter a small smile. “Including Aislynn's, of course.”

“Of course.” But the headmistress seemed doubtful. Aislynn's stomach turned.

“Is there something we need to be aware of?” the queen asked, glancing at her daughter with concern.

“There are some . . .” Madame Odette cleared her throat as she turned her cold gaze toward the portraits across the room. “. . . incidents that need to be brought to his attention.” Her gaze swung back to Aislynn, and she smiled unpleasantly. “Adviser . . . Hull, isn't it?”

Fear stuck in Aislynn's throat like an unswallowed piece of bread. She had been so good, so careful, for months now. Was she being punished for her foolishness this afternoon? Would the headmistress delay her Introduction for such a small infraction?

“I'm sure it won't take me long to find him,” the headmistress continued, running a thin finger along the edge of her wimple. “Your Majesties.” Madame Odette and her silent companion curtsied before disappearing into the crowd.

“Aislynn?” her mother's voice was shrill. Inside her chest, Aislynn's kettle heart began to shake.

“What is she talking about?” her father asked.

Why had she allowed herself to get angry today, of all days? If the headmistress delayed her Introduction and made her wait for the next ball to be presented, Aislynn had only herself to blame. She took a deep breath, trying to calm the magic now burning hot inside of her.

“I have to . . . I need . . .” Throwing her apologies over her shoulder, she pushed past her parents. “I need some air. I'm sorry.”