Melena

Yoszovar, 5 years before the Rise

What was I thinking, allowing him to kiss me? It’s been four days and I can still feel his lips on mine. They tingle with some sort of anticipation, a sort of… Longing perhaps?

That thought makes me throw down my brush into the waterbowl and all but run through my room as if I can escape that ludicrous thought by walking fast enough.

I have to get a grip on myself. It wasn’t even a real kiss, like the ones in novels and the secret book Ralonda gave me when I turned fifteen, and I’m all over the place. It’s ridiculous. And I am not going to pay any more attention to it. I’m painting a lovely still, that’s what I want to concentrate on. I stride over to my brush, ignore the droplets of water I splattered all over my desk when I threw it into the bowl and take up my palet again. Green. That’s the color I need now.

But that kiss, that peck, that utterly unwelcome acquaintance with his lips has been on my mind almost non-stop, is still so present in my mind that I can’t hold the tip of my brush still enough for a single stroke.

This is madness! I must be the world’s biggest fool.

Why did I let him kiss me?

And even worse… Why did I run off? Why not just let him kiss me, really kiss me, and…

The notion of Kayetan really kissing me is so overwhelming that my heart starts bouncing as if it doesn’t know how to beat properly anymore. A droplet of paint makes its way down the shaft of my shaking brush and stains my hand a bright green.

I was right to run away. This feeling of dread and fear and wanting and hope and frustration is too much. I don’t even recognize myself anymore.

The only thing I know, is that I’m utterly stupid. Kayetan could well have been the scapegoat to save me from Horgas. It should have been easy to seduce him, to let him kiss me and make him want me so that he could be my knight in shining armor saving me from this upcoming marriage thing with Horgas Maletti. He looks at me like a lovesick puppy and I just know that if I had played it well, he would have kissed me good and been at my beck and call.

He could have been my barrier against Horgas Maletti.

But if that teeny tiny kiss has this effect on me, I don’t want to think about what could happen if I really kiss him.

No, if he kisses me. I’d never initiate a kiss. Never. Not when it makes me tingle all over and I feel I could just faint and my temperature goes wonky and…

Why does my life have to change so much? Why can’t I just keep living the life I’ve led up until only a few weeks ago — a simple life filled with painting, a trip to the bathhouse every now and then, and as little societal demands as possible? Just me, Jeszy and my family. No suitors, no Masterlings invading our space — I was so happy when Father’s last Masterling finally left us and I got dinnertime with family back — and no thoughts about the future because I could live my life happily in the present.

Can’t I just go back in time and prevent the Masterlings from coming to live with us, prevent the conversation I had with Mother about Horgas’ idiotic intentions from happening, prevent time from moving on?

Now that would be a kind of Magic worth the trouble.

But Magic doesn’t work that way. Magic is conjuring up illusions. Like the clothes Father adjusted for Ralonda, like the music playing over teatime, like the beauty of the flowers in Mother’s drawing room that look pretty from a distance but in reality are nothing more than a bending of the light. I know — I tried to paint them once and saw them for what they were.

Oh, why am I even wondering? Everything is different; there is no way I can ever go back to the way it was. It’s as if black paint has touched all my vivid colors, and I’ll never be able to get the grey shades out of them ever again.

The servant’s door opens and Yeszy comes scurrying through it. “Mel,” she hisses. “It’s Bargle, he’s coming to take you to your father’s room.”

I drop the brush I’d forgotten I was holding, and I’m sure there’s a green stripe on my skirt now. “What?”

“Bargele.”

There’s a knock on the door and we look at each other in alarm..

“Can you help me escape?” I whisper as soon as Yeszy is within earshot.

Which was a stupid thing to do, for Bargele’s hearing is uncannily good. His voice sounds as if he knows he’s about to ruin my day and loves every second of it. “Ah, Miss Vorvalus, you are in. Splendid.”

He opens the door just a crack to speak ot me. Another sign that I’m no longer a child; before, Bargle would simply barge in — hence our nickname for him, Barge-le instead of Bargle — and I think he loves this. He can now pull the faces of sheer gloating that he has to hide when speaking to me directly. He’s not that good at hiding them, though.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

“Bargle,” I manage.

“Your Father is waiting for you in the sitting room. Would you like your tea with or without sugar today?”

It takes all I have not to grind my teeth. “With sugar, please.”

There’s been a long and strangely infuriating talk with Mother a few weeks ago about how I needed to quit childish habits like sugar in my tea. It’s only now becoming clear that a whole series of events and confronting conversations have all been about getting me to become somebody I’m not. How long have Mother and Father been brewing on Horgas? And why are they passing by Ralonda? It’s a thought that’s entered my mind before, and now I hang on to it for dear life as I’m led to Father’s sitting room by Bargele — who is gloating — as if I don’t know the way around my own house.

Admittedly, I would have tried my best to get lost in the corridor between my room and Father’s sitting room, but that’s beside the point. I don’t need a guard dog. I am seventeen, for crying out loud.

Maybe I should take Mother’s heed and start acting my age.

I take a deep breath before entering and even try to put up a smile — I need every bit of lift to put Father in a good mood. Maybe, just maybe, Maletti is not… My smile suffers from swallowing, and I know the feigned happiness doesn’t reach my eyes — not even a little bit.

“Lena,” Father says. He looks even more stubborn than he usually does. Mother must have told him about my… objections to their plans.

“Father,” I answer, my voice somehow bearing a cheerful tone that would make any sugar added to my tea redundant. “How is your day so far?”

“Very nice, thank you. Sit down.”

It’s more of a command than a request, and a seat has already been put up. To my amazement, it’s an ornate one, one that would just about level me with my father — or it would have been if he hadn’t been so tall. But there is a hint of equality in it — as if I am to be taken a bit more seriously than before. No longer a child, but a young woman. Why does that piss me off when barely a minute ago I decided to act my age?

I want to be mature. I think. But why does that have to go hand in hand with feeling all kinds of new things? And being forced to think about men and marriage?

Suddenly, the soft cushioning feels like quicksand I have been lured into without any means of escaping.

And Father just looks at me. Is he waiting for me to start this conversation? That’ll be a long wait — I will not bring up the subject of Horgas or matrimony if I can help it.

“Lena,” he starts, after what seems like half an eternity. “I am most pleased to see you.”

What on earth do I say to that? How do I want to portray myself, as an empty-headed girl he can boss around, or as a nearly grown woman who needs to be taken seriously, but who is also ripe for a wedding? I really don’t know which is worse, so I just nod, dread forming clumps in my stomach.

“I’ve had some interesting conversations as of late,” my father goes on. He uses the tone of somebody conveying serious matters. “Big conversations of personal sorts.”

“Oh.” I try to keep it light, I really do, but it's impossible. My heart is beating so fast, it nearly jumps out of my chest, and I feel queezy.

“You know that you have caught the interest of Horgas Malleti.”

Oh, I know. I’m hoping with all my might I will lose it again. Oh, please, let that be what Father is speaking so gravely about. Let him believe I would be heartbroken by Horgas calling off the plans for an engagement, let him try to soften the blow. I might just be able to contain myself and not reveal how tremendously happy such a thing would make me. I could even act all sad. Maybe.

“His interest in you has consolidated into a deep wish for the both of you to be bound in marriage.”

I gasp for air.

“He hasn’t asked for your hand yet, but it will only be a matter of time.”

“But…”

“Don’t worry. I’m sure all will be done considering proper protocol. You only need to prepare yourself to say yes.”

“Proper…” I can't even ask about that last thing he said, my mind simply refuses to go there. Instead, I latch on to his other statement. Proper protocol… Proper protocol! “But what about Ralonda? You surely cannot allow me to get engaged when she is still unwed.”

“That is none of your concern.” Father’s eyes are usually a radiating green, but now they gleam like ice.

I try very hard to swallow my but. “I have been brought up with the notion that one should always follow protocol. Why would that notion be broken for my… For such a hasty…” I can't even bring myself to utter the word. With every beat of my heart, I feel the resignation pulse through my veins, and the sensation of Kayetan’s lips on mine flares up with every pulse as well. It's the strangest sensation, and the fact that I register it is even weirder since Father has basically sentenced me to a life with Horgas and that is much, much more discerning than one small kiss on the lips.

“There is time. We’re not rushing into things,” my father says.

“I am barely seventeen,” I interject. “Ralonda is eighteen. She has rights, as the eldest.” I prefer to call them obligations, but for this noble cause I will alter my words. It's impossible for Mother and Father to ignore protocol and marry me off before Ralonda. I can't believe it.

“As I said, this is none of your concern.”

“But what will everybody think?” I almost yell. “Do you really want to risk your position in the Council over this?”

Where his eyes were spreading a cold, icy hue before, my father’s gaze now sparks fire. “Do not speak about things you don’t even understand. Ralonda will be betrothed and married well before you will.”

“What?”

“As a matter of fact, she is taking her responsibility towards the family with grace and dignity. She knows to trust us in our choices. Whereas you…” He spits the word at me. “You’re letting foolish selfishness rule you. Do you want to know why we have already informed you of Horgas’ intentions? Because we were so happy that a wonderful man like Horgas expressed his liking toward you, his affection even. We wish you all the happiness in the world, Lena, and Horgas will give you just that. I don’t want another word out of you about protocol or Ralonda or anything else that says something other than your willingness to take Horgas’ offer when it comes.”

I can't even speak from indignation. Maybe acting childish will be the best way to go, to make Father see that I am not ready to marry, that I’ll make a fool of myself in front of all those society members Mother and Father are always so eager to impress. “I…”

“If you are about to say anything else than “yes, I will marry Horgas”, then you might as well keep quiet.”

I press my lips together and storm out of the room. I know Father is watching me go with that same stubborn expression he carries so often. I know he really isn’t pleased with me. I also know he probably expected me to bend to his will just like that. He doesn’t care what I feel or think. I have no say in this, that much is clear, but somehow I need to make it stop.

And there’s only one person I can turn to, for she’s in this just as deeply as I am.