Melena

Yoszovar, 5 years before the Rise

I’ve overstayed my welcome in the bathhouse. Of course, it’s my own fault — against my better judgment, I decided to float around in the heated pool a little longer. And I didn’t decide on that once, but at least seven times. And now I’m caught in the hustle and bustle of women leaving right before the men come in, and I hate that moment almost as thoroughly as I hate the cold bath in the back of the bathhouse.

Why did I allow myself to postpone my departure so many times? What was I thinking — that the paint still hadn’t come off my fingers? That I hadn’t shriveled up like prune enough yet? But as I pull my towel from the hook, trying to avoid bumping into two elderly ladies who not only dominate the space with their endless chatter but also take up a lot of room with their corpulent bodies and don’t even think to look whether somebody is standing where they want to go or not, I know very well why. It was a good idea to have Yeszy, my personal maid and usual company when going to the bathhouse, go home before me so she could take precautionary action if needed.

Oh, I feel it is needed. If I could, I would probably have postponed my departure a hundred times, but I can’t. It’s frustrating. As are all the women here — the two blocking my hook in particular. To add to my annoyance about their vociferous presence, the two have somehow thought it a good idea to hang their towels side by side to mine, causing me to have to squeeze between them in an attempt to rescue my towel and dry myself off as quickly as I can. Hopefully, most of the women present in the dressing room have had the sense to plan ahead and stay ahead of the crowd so by now they’ll be about ready to leave, but if I can trust my ears, that isn’t the case. The dressing room is filled to the brink with women yapping away, taking their sweet time to dry themselves off and then get dressed. They’ll drive the attendants mad, for no man is supposed to enter the bathhouse when a woman is still present, and I know how big the lines can grow on any given day — I usually breathe a sigh of relief when I leave here and pass the line that is already growing, not wanting to guess how long it will be come changing time. Why did I allow myself to be so slow?

Today, the sigh that wants to come up has nothing to do with relief. I know very well why I delayed going home. Even thinking about the manor makes me want to hide in some remote corner of the bathhouse and not come out — sending Yeszy was a feeble attempt to gain some control over the situation. Marriage, ugh.

Not that Horgas is such an awful guy, but the thought of marrying him… This time I have to suppress a gag, and I immediately feel the sting of guilt run through my stomach right next to the nausea at the idea of binding myself to Horgas. All the women here would probably have given their right hand to be engaged to Horgas Malleti when they were my age. Most of them probably even would right now, no matter their age or marital status. Horgas is well-born, handsome and, well, nice. Everything a woman might look for — any woman but me.

I suddenly realize I am staring straight ahead, my hair still dripping rosewater on me, the towel motionless in my hands. In front of my breasts and other area’s don’t like exposing to the world, but just hanging there idly. The big women are all but finished, already making their way towards the door. The crowd seems to grow smaller, and I can now separate different conversations — most of them gossip. If I’m right, two different conversations are going on about the same subject, a servant girl that somehow managed to poison an entire household by mixing up the herbs used as cold medicine with the ones used for soap. It’s quite an accomplishment since both herbs look nothing alike. The distinct smell of both of them adds to the weirdness of the incident, and that makes speculations about the degree of intent spread like wildfire. The two ladies nearest to me are absolutely certain the girl fed the family the wrong herbs to cover up some unlawful affair — their tone just a bit too exhilarated to hide the fact that they’re bored out of their minds with their own lives and need to seek some sort of thrill over the backs of others. By all that is sacred, I do not want to turn out like them.

And now I’m still not doing anything. Quickly, I start to rub myself dry. Even though men and women are kept strictly separated in the bathhouse, I’ve heard rumors of attendants opening the doors when departing guests take too much time to leave to their taste. I am not going to be exposed in front of a horde of men — and I most certainly don’t want to see any man get undressed in my presence. The very thought makes me rub even faster, the rich, soft towel setting my skin aglow.

The focus doesn’t last long, even by my current standards. Somewhere between one foot and the other, my mind wanders off again. To Horgas. To the fact that Father has been with Horgas’ father all afternoon and has probably returned. I don’t know how probable it is for them to have made arrangements, but…

Oh, I really don’t want to go home.

Hopefully, my father will spend the rest of his day with his brand-new apprentices. Two this time — as if the world really needs more people to bend it out of shape. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. I can’t even begin to understand why my father brought them in, and why they are required to be there over dinner is an even bigger mystery to me. Why did Father put their lives upside down? Why is he putting my life upside down? I was so happy the old apprentice was done apprenticing and things were fine as they were; I don’t need strangers at the dinner table. Or marriages that ’better the family,’ which is the biggest nonsense I’ve ever heard. If Father cares so much about our status, he should have never hired Kayetan — if there ever was an example of a low-born Masterling, he is it. And I don’t like him.

Not because he is low-born or foreign. I pride myself on not being that shallow. But when he bowed to Ralonda and not to me, and then bowed with amazing grace for Eilyn, who was almost half my age, that was infuriating. It was as if he… I notice the towel hanging limp in my hands again and grit my teeth. As if he wanted to taunt me. As if he wanted to tell me that he was unavailable for me.

The very idea of wanting him to be available is so silly I almost laugh out loud, which will hardly be noticed in a dressing room full of women yapping away, but I cannot allow myself to do so.

No, Kayetan was simply out to humiliate me. And to top it all off, he started a conversation with Eilyn and even got her to finish her plate. Eilyn, the queen of picky eaters and surly faces at the dinner table. And he’s done so every time. Imagine Eilyn finishing her dinner three times in a row! He’s a miracle worker with her.

Well, he should do what he needs to. I’m not interested in him. It doesn’t matter that he looks at me in a way I’m not familiar with — I sometimes catch him, usually because some sort of shiver runs down my spine alerting me to his gaze.

No, that doesn’t mean anything. I ought to never think of the boy again, with his stupid smile and his stupid enthusiasm for Magic, and his stupid work ethics Father keeps going on about, and everything else that is plain stupid about him. And most of all, it’s stupid that I keep thinking about him; whenever I push Horgas out of my mind, Kayetan comes in.

Maybe that’s the worst part — that he has somehow wriggled his way into my brain and has refused to leave.

I stalk to my locker and press my hand against the lock as if it’s Kayetan’s face. It opens with a click that is far too gentle for the amount of annoyance I have poured into the movement, but I make up for that by yanking my clothes out and putting them on as if they’ve done something terrible to me. Something snaps — probably some stitching in my dress, but I couldn’t care less. The frustration needs to be released, and my dress is probably a safer option than doing something socially unacceptable like yelling at the two women who have now moved from their discussion about the servant girl to an assessment of the weather, and how one of them predicts the size of the raindrops by the shape and color of the storm clouds coming in from the West, combined with how the tea leaves stick to the inside of her teacup. The other woman is nodding as if what her friend said makes total sense.

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

Sometimes I understand why women are forbidden to use Magic.

I finally tie my hair together in a loose bun and close the locker - this time I am able to control myself and simply shut it without any banging or pretending it is Kayetan.

Strangely enough, I wasn’t inclined to pretend the locker door was Horgas.

That is something I do not want to investigate any deeper. I turn on my heel and make for the door, surprised that there are still about a dozen women inside. Most of them fully clothed, but a few show very little hurry to reach that state of dress.

Well, that is up to them. I will have nothing to do with any indecency with the other sex present, so I quickly gather my things and stuff all of them into a bag, which I then fling over my shoulder. I slip out the door onto the empty hallway. Somewhere within the bathchambers, I hear voices and the sound of something sweeping over the stone floors. A musky scent fills the air, a smell I recognize from when the men are allowed into the bathhouse first, and the slot for the women is the second half of the day. I’ve also smelled it on my father after he returned from the bathhouse, and probably on Horgas too.

Oh dear stars. The only time Horgas and I have been close enough for me to smell that was during some tedious social event that had me make stupid comments on everything that went on just so I wouldn’t die of sheer boredom. He chuckled about nearly all of them, and that… I close my eyes for just a second and shake my head. That must have been the moment he got the idea that I might be marriageable material. Oh, if I had just been sensible enough to shut up and bear the excruciatingly long speeches and ceremonies in silence, maybe I wouldn’t be in this mess right now.

But I need to keep my head straight. Yes, Father might have sealed the deal. He might have plotted my wedding; he might have promised a whole lot, but I still have the right to say no. No matter how good it would be for the family to form bonds with a family as powerful as Horgas’, I can simply refuse to marry him and…

And I would probably be disowned. Or drugged. Or Magicked. I know my father; he would do anything to get what he wants, and I don’t suspect him of ever holding back, not even when it comes to me. Can I refuse? Is there a way out of this mess, or am I doomed?

Oh, I am doomed for sure. My footsteps falter as I realize it. All the noises from the adjacent bathchambers fall away. A woman looking at me oddly as I stand still in the middle of the hallway doesn’t even bother me.

The marriage to Horgas is a fate I won’t be able to escape easily. I’ll have to take desperate measures if I want to get out of it. I clutch the handle of my bag and squeeze as hard as I can. Why couldn’t Horgas just have chosen Ralonda? Why are Mother and Father fine with their second child getting married first — isn’t that an honor reserved for the eldest? I thought myself safe as long as Rallie was unbound. Of all the misjudgments I’ve ever made, this one has to be the worst.

Can I use that argument? I don’t know, but thinking too much about this is making me feel constricted. I need fresh air. It’s too stifling in here, too hot. A fresh wind might blow some sense into me, make me see a way towards a Horgas-free future. I pick up my pace and leave behind the scraping sounds that echo through the hallway. Get outside, breathe, and think. The woman who passed me by opens the door to step into the freedom I yearn for too. A gust of wind carries the deep, low voices of waiting men outside, and I speed up. The sooner I am alone, in the park or on the embankment of one of Yoszovar’s many channels, the better it will be.

Oh, the line is long. Thank goodness I am already out of there — the attendants won’t want to keep such a crowd waiting for too long. And thank goodness the sun is shining, and the wind is blowing. I will find myself a safe space to think and make plans. I will—

“Melena?”

Oh no. Not him.

He’s spoken quite softly. Can I pretend I didn’t-

“Melena, it’s me, Horgas.”

How rude is it to just make a run for it? His voice is still soft enough to make the excuse of not hearing him stick — around him a few men are adamantly talking about a game they’ve been playing where one of them has supposedly cheated. I could make it look like I want to get away from them. I pick up speed. I can almost feel Horgas’ eyes on my back and wish I’d brought a cloak of some sort.

Does this mean I’d have to go into hiding every time I set foot outside? No, I won’t allow that. But…

“Miss Volvalus? Melena, is that you?”

Drat. Can I make him believe I am somebody else? Are the footsteps I’m aware of coming after me?

I decide the only way to lose him properly is to disappear into the crowd. That’s the simplest way — to get lost between all those men standing and waiting. There’s a bit of an opening in the line of waiting men, and I dive right in.

“Melena!”

No, no, no! I resist the urge to look back and squeeze in between two sturdy men so much bigger and broader than me that Horgas can’t possibly see me anymore. I dive left and right, praying everybody will keep silent about a girl zigzagging through, but a lot of men have their remarks at the ready when they see me. Horgas will only have to follow the sound.

I round a man with an enormous hat, a younger man humming out of tune, and squeeze past a group of three men who apparently notice my hair, my eyes, my buttocks, and some other curves of mine. I refuse to listen — though one of them has such a sharp voice that it’s hard to ignore how appreciative he is of certain body parts — and trudge on.

Into somebody.

He’s standing with his back to me, which has prevented him from seeing me barge in and stepping aside in time, and his bag falls off his shoulder as he tries to maintain his balance. My bag flies to the ground too.

“I’m sorry,” I mutter.

His “I’m sorry“ comes right at the same time. I reach for my bag, he reaches for my bag, and our hands touch for the shortest of moments before we both pull back. But that moment has been enough to take my breath away, to have my heart beating in my chest faster than I’ve ever felt it beat. I want to blame being chased by Horgas, want to attribute the tingling of my skin to how sudden the touch has been, or how improper. But I know this is something else. I quickly look at the person who now takes my bag and presents it to me, and gasp.

“Kayetan.”

He’s as surprised as I am. “Lady Melena.” And then he bows. He bows, deeply and gracefully. I ought to just catch my breath right now, but my body doesn’t seem to be able to do anything normally anymore. The tingling sensation spreads, and when our eyes catch, it seems like everything I’ve ever been certain about loses its meaning. Up, down, right, wrong, everything switches places or simply falls away. The air between me and Kayetan seems to be filled with the most beautiful music only hearts can hear.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

“I’m… No, I don’t think that I’m…”

“Here.” He holds up my bag, and I swear I didn’t plan on doing it, but our hands touch again, and now the tingling sweeps through me like a storm of breathless pleasantness.

“Thank you,” I want to say, but something incoherent and hoarse comes out.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I just… I need to get out of here. Could you…” I hear something behind me that has to be Horgas; there’s no other way around it. “Can you hide me?”

“Hide… What’s wrong?”

He won’t do it. He’ll just keep me talking, and Horgas will find me and probably propose on the spot — or even worse, simply inform me that the wedding will be in a few weeks.

“Please…” I whisper, looking at Kayetan with an expression I know must be desperate — something I usually do not allow myself to show anyone except for the mirror, and even then only for painting purposes. But he has to help me. He can’t stand idly by as I… Right? He’s the one who will save me from Horgas. If I… I hardly dare to think it. If I play it well… “Kayetan…” I whisper.

He looks as if something pains him. Exactly where I want him to be. “I’m not sure if this will work…” he starts.

“Please…” Anything. I swallow, resisting the urge to take both his hands in mine no matter the bag.

“I’ve never done this on a living being…”

“Melena?” Horgas sounds so much closer than I’m comfortable with.

“Please, now!”

He lets go of the bag, and his nod is barely visible before he starts saying odd words that in a way feel familiar, while at the same time, they’re nothing but nonsense.

“Melena!”

Something warm drips over me. It’s like being back in the bathhouse, being underwater in one of the most comfortably temperatured baths, and yet I’m still able to breathe. The liquid I feel I’m in isn’t as quick as water; it resembles the viscosity of syrup, something thick and rich. I can see through it; basically, there’s nothing there, and the sounds also remain just as loud and clear. Still, there’s a veil between me and the rest of the world — only Kayetan is as visible as he always is; everybody else seems to be shrouded in mist. A flash of an idea shoots through me. Could I perhaps use Kayetan to get rid of Horgas? Not only now, but…

Horgas emerges from behind the three men I passed earlier. “A girl with black curls and green eyes?” he asks them.

“Like anyone here,” one of the men mutters.

“Fine ass, nice rack?” another says. It’s the guy with the sharp voice. “She went that way.”

“Give her our regards,” the third one says.

Horgas stalks towards me, and I’m too scared to even be furious about him not saying anything to protect my honor. Nice ass and fine rack indeed! He should have punched the guy on the spot. But that’s probably exactly why I don’t even consider marrying him. The jerk.

He’s still coming straight at me. Now that he comes closer, his expression becomes a bit clearer as the mist grows thinner. He doesn’t look worried or kind; he looks quite frustrated. It doesn’t become him. And he obviously doesn’t see me, which makes me almost want to cry with relief.

“Have you seen a beautiful girl with black curls?” He asks quite generally, and suddenly a pang of fear shoots through my stomach. Kayetan has hidden me, but there have been people standing right beside and behind him. If they saw how I’d just disappeared, and this noble man is looking for me… They might just tell him what they saw.