Before he could even identify them by sight, Ilyen Gerrin knew that the voices singing in harmony belonged to his nieces. Peering ahead, he could see the figures of the two girls atop the leaning boulder beside the road.

“Uncle Ilyen!” one cried out when she saw him, and they stopped their song to get to their feet upon the great rock, waving their arms in greeting.

Waving to them in return, he slowed his cart as soon as he was near.

“Alís, Lilia!” he beckoned for them to descend from their mossy perch. Alís fearlessly jumped to the ground, but the younger sister navigated a more cautious route down the side, her bare feet finding footholds carefully. Ilyen chuckled to himself; he could not recall ever seeing shoes on Lilia’s feet.

“Come up on my cart,” he invited. “Lilia, you’re even taller than the last time I saw you. How old are you now?”

“Seventeen,” she replied proudly, standing up straight to show him just how tall she was.

Alís rolled her eyes at the lie. “Sixteen,” she mouthed to their uncle while Lilia was busy climbing into the back of the cart with the many casks of dried tea leaves.

“You look well, uncle,” Alís ducked beneath the wide brim of his straw hat to kiss his cheek fondly, sitting beside him in the front. “How was your trip from Aldren?”

“Fine, fine,” he replied, giving the reins a shake to continue down the road. “Looking forward to celebrating Yan tonight. He should have proposed last year, if you ask me.”

“He was too nervous, but he’s been regretting it every day since.”

“One chance a year,” Ilyen shook his head. “I can’t believe you still have that tradition in Salmü. Now if you had set things up with a matchmaker…”

“Where is Aunt Jain anyway?” Alís wondered.

“There was a meeting that was too important to put off, but she sends her love.”

“Is it a first introduction of a potential match?” Lilia leaned forward to join their conversation.

“No, they’ve met a few times. We’re hoping to announce a betrothal.”

By now they came to the crossroads. Continuing straight would lead to the rest of the plains and hills of the kingdom, until the mountains, and Tarraven beyond. The road to the left led to the village, where the workshops and stores formed an open square; twice a week the market would fill the space with its many stalls and vendors, both locals and from surrounding towns. Ilyen instead turned them to the right, which brought them to the gate of Summervale, the Rinak property. The family name was carved in the traditional style on the door, surrounded by a design of clover leaves and blossoms. Lilia hopped down from the cart to open it for her uncle to steer into.

“Uncle Ilyen’s here!” she called to the house, prompting the eldest to come out from the courtyard.

“Yan!” Ilyen pulled the reins to stop his steed, disembarking to shake hands with his nephew. “How are you feeling about tonight?”

“Wonderful,” Yan laughed, but there was a tremor in his voice.

“Do not worry,” Lilia neared, taking his arm to comfort him. “Phyra will certainly accept you.”

“She had better,” Alís teased, taking his other arm. “Or you will have built that house up on the hill for nothing.”

“You must ask this year,” the youngest warned. “You have delayed too long.”

“I will,” Yan mumbled, a faint blush appearing behind his beard.

When the three Rinak children were all together, they appeared as a set, whole and complete, all belonging together. They all had black hair and narrow brown eyes, and seemed to share other features in pairs. Yan and Lilia had their mother’s high cheekbones, while the two sisters had inherited the overall proportions of their father’s side of the family, with deep-set eyes and round, delicate noses. Yan and Alís looked most alike when they smiled, with wide grins that made their eyes all but disappear. Alís had a lovely round face, and was small statured, barely reaching her brother’s shoulder. Lilia was not yet finished growing, but she had passed Alís years ago. They could easily be identified as a family, not only from their appearances, but from the fondness with which they treated one another.

Yan gave his sisters a squeeze before releasing them to tend to the horse and cart while the girls led their uncle into the courtyard of the main house. The rhythmic clacking of the loom that had been steadily echoing over the cobblestones stopped suddenly as Madam Rinak got to her feet.

“Is that Ilyen?” she held her arms out toward him as she stepped away from her weaving.

“Hello, Cliere,” he greeted, stepping into her embrace so she wouldn’t have to navigate on her own. He placed a loving kiss upon her greying head and held her tightly.

“How long will you be staying?”

“Just a few days,” he let her go, holding her hands instead. “We can celebrate Yan and Phyra’s betrothal, and Alís can say her goodbyes to everyone in town.”

At the mention of her sister’s imminent departure, Lilia let out a sigh that seemed to remind her mother of something.

“Ah, girls, help bring your uncle’s things to the guest room,” she instructed, listening for their retreating footsteps before addressing her brother quietly. “Lilia is having trouble accepting that Alís is leaving Salmü. They’ve always been very close; sharing a room, and clothes, and every little thing.”

“Of course,” Ilyen squeezed his sister’s hands understandingly.

“If it isn’t too much trouble for you and Jain, could you take her to Aldren as well? Just for a little while. It might help Alís too. She often speaks of how much she is looking forward to the change, but I know she’s likely to become rather homesick.”

“Ah, Cliere, you coddle them,” he scolded gently. “Lilia would be no burden upon my wife and I, but this is the time for Alís to grow up. Anyway, between helping us run the tea house, and preparing for her match, she will hardly have time to be homesick.”

“You’re probably right,” Madam Rinak sighed.

“In a month or two, send Lilia for a visit,” he suggested. “Then she’ll have something to look forward to.”

Relieved, she smiled and nodded, letting go of one of his hands to feel for her cane. Finding it, she began to walk with him across the courtyard to the parlor.

“Tell me. Do you have a match for Alís in mind?”

“Ah, you know I’m not allowed to reveal any details this soon.”

“I’m not asking for details, just whether or not you have a husband in mind for her.”

“Very well,” he sighed. “Yes, we are hoping to arrange a meeting with someone in particular. I cannot say who, or anything about him at all.”

“Yes, yes,” she dismissed his caution. “Alís is just worried that coming from such a small village, that she might be… disadvantaged.”

“Cliere,” Ilyen began, sounding serious. “I want you to understand that Jain and I are highly respected in the matchmaking business. What I mean is, although we are glad to help Alís, and indeed the family, we would not be taking her as a client unless we had total faith in her.”

Now that they had reached the door of the parlor, Ilyen watched his nieces carrying his bags to another door of the courtyard. Alís strode purposefully, her head upright, while young Lilia practically skipped behind her. There were barely four years between them, but it seemed that the older sister was already quite grown up.

“Alís isn’t worried,” he mused. “You are, Cliere.”

“Yes, I am,” she admitted, stepping over where she knew the threshold was and using her cane to guide herself to the fireplace, carefully finding the hanging kettle and shaking it to listen for water inside before swinging the hinged iron arm so that the kettle would be heated over the fire. “Aldren is very different from Salmü. The people are different.”

“People are people,” Ilyen reminded her, leaning in the doorway. “And Alís is extraordinarily intelligent and poised, especially for one with only basic formal education. She must have worked very hard on her own to become so well read and cultured.”

“She is always turning pages.”

“And I know you’ll have to take my word for this, but she is a beautiful young lady. Some matchmakers say beauty has no bearing on a quick or successful match, but after being in the business for such a long time… my dear, you have nothing to worry about.”

“Ilyen!” Master Rinak greeted as he entered the courtyard from the main door. “I saw your cart and horse in the barn, when did you arrive?”

“Only just now,” he replied, shaking his brother-in-law’s hand. “You’re looking well, Jehol. I was sorry to hear about your brother. He was a good man.”

“Ah, thank you. Would you like to visit his grave?” he gestured toward the back of the property.

“I intend to lay a wreath before I leave.”

“We don’t have a funeral shop in town,” Cliere remarked. “But there are some juniper trees around, and one of the girls can help tie it into a wreath.”

“Come in, please, sit,” Jehol invited, and Ilyen removed his woven straw hat to enter and sit with the two of them. “Do you have a match for Alís yet?”

“I’m afraid I can’t reveal-”

“He does, he does,” Cliere interrupted, waving her hand. “He can’t tell us anything about the man or his family, but they have someone in mind. All is well.”

“You aren’t anxious too, are you?” Ilyen looked at the carpenter sideways. “Is it that you don’t have faith in your daughter, or in my wife?”

Jehol leaned back in his chair, scratching his head with a slow sigh.

“Alís is… well, I am very proud of her. And you and Jain; I have heard how well things have been going, both in the tea business and in the matchmaking business. I’m sure you will choose someone suitable for her.”

“But?” Ilyen waited, but the carpenter didn’t continue, so he turned to his sister. “Cliere?”

“We always intended for at least one of our children to marry with your help,” she said. “And of course we’ve been discussing it as a path for Alís for several years now. But we didn’t think it would happen so soon. She only came of age this year, you know.”

“I was surprised when you wrote to start the process,” he admitted. “I also thought it would be a few years from now. What changed?”

“Losing my brother,” Jehol revealed. “As you know, it was fairly unexpected. Summervale isn’t the largest property, but it takes a lot of work to maintain, and money. Losing a pair of capable hands took a toll on our ledger.”

“I see.”

The kettle now whistled, and the carpenter stood at once to remove it from the fire.

“I’m getting it,” he told his wife before she stood, pouring the steaming water into the teapot she had already prepared.

“What about Lilia?” Ilyen wondered.

“What about her?” Cliere sat up straighter.

“Should we arrange a match for her as well?”

“She’s far too young,” she began to protest, but her husband could only laugh at the idea.

“It would be for when she’s older,” Ilyen tried to explain, but Jehol was still chuckling as he spoke. “What joke have I told?”

“Lilia is the last girl in the world that would agree to an arranged marriage,” he shook his head with a grin. “Alís may be more independent, but our sweet lily is far too interested in romance to be paired with someone she did not choose herself.”

“The tea is ready,” Cliere announced, and her husband poured it for each of them.

“Lilia could choose someone herself,” Ilyen went on. “Sometimes couples who are too young to marry will ask a matchmaker to make their betrothal legitimate. They don’t always last until they come of age, of course, but occasionally they do. It keeps foolish romantics from running away from home and getting into trouble.”

“Do you and Jain betroth children often?” Jehol snickered into his cup.

“Ah, never mind,” he shook his head. “You were right, Cliere. People are different in Aldren.”

“Mama!” Lilia called from across the courtyard, panting as she came into the parlor. “Mama, Alís won’t change into something nice to wear tonight. She says she doesn’t have to cuz she’s not proposing or being proposed to, so no one’s even gonna be looking at her and she-”

“I look fine,” Alís caught up. “Mama, tell her I look fine.”

Madam Rinak only threw up a hand in a shrug as she drank her tea.

“Alís, at least put on some good sashes,” Jehol took over. “For Yan and Phyra’s sake.”

“Very well,” the older daughter conceded, returning to their room to do as her father asked.

“Wait, will you braid my hair?” Lilia took off after her, her voice echoing off the slate tiles of the open courtyard.

The two parents were now rather quiet, and Ilyen could tell they were contemplating how different things would be, not only with one of their children gone, but with the pair of sisters separated.

----------------------------------------

In the open field past the village square, the villagers had lit a great bonfire for the traditional dance, setting up many tables and bringing food to share with their neighbors. All the people of Salmü had arrived, as well as a few folks from the surrounding villages, whether or not they had relatives eligible for marriage.

Anyone who was not already betrothed or married over the age of twenty wore a crown of flowers, including Yan and Alís. Lilia and the other youths had woven crowns of green leaves for themselves instead, knowing that when they were old enough they would be able to join the dance.

First everyone ate and drank and visited, passing gossip and cups. They speculated on who might propose to whom, and commented on how nervous or excited the eligible dancers appeared. Eventually, chairs began migrating, placed in a wide circle; those wearing summer blossoms on their heads found a seat within the ring, and all the spectators gathered on the edge in clusters. The Rinak family huddled together behind where Yan and Alís sat, giving last bits of encouragement to the carpenter’s son, who could only nod at their words, although whether or not he could even hear them was hard to say. He could only gaze at his beloved Phyra across the circle and twiddle his fingers.

“Does everyone have their bells?” an older gentleman walked the circumference with a bag of spares, passing them to anyone who had not yet received the jingling ribbons.

Alís of course had no intention of giving the bells to anyone that night, but she took them anyway, for tradition’s sake. Although as a girl she had always loved this annual event, she had grown to agree with her Uncle Ilyen; it didn’t make much sense to reserve all betrothals for a single evening in a year. In a few days she would be off to the city to seek the guidance of her aunt the matchmaker, and these ancient folk traditions would be behind her.

Of course there were some elements of this life that she would miss, or not leave behind at all; the string of beads that all women of the village wore around their waists, for example. It was once a widespread tradition, all across the Holy Empire, but it had fallen out of fashion and was now typically reserved for holidays or important life events. Lilia had made her promise that she would continue to wear them always, no matter how far from home she wandered.

One thing she would not miss was the eternal gossip. It was such a small village that everyone’s business was always known; everyone seemed to have an opinion and no way to keep it to themselves. Even now she looked around at all the friends and neighbors that whispered among themselves; plenty looked at poor Yan, who was anxiously bouncing his knee. She was about to encourage him to pay their gossip no mind, but then she realized that many of them were in fact casting glances at her.

Before she had the chance to say anything to her brother, the great drums began their thunderous rhythm, joined soon by the flutes and strummed string instruments, and it was time for the betrothal dance to begin. The onlookers hushed in anticipation, and for several bars of the song, no one moved. At last, one of the young women rose from her seat to kneel before her sweetheart, who smiled and allowed her to tie her bells around his ankle. The villagers cheered and applauded, and they swapped positions so that he could fasten his ribbon of bells to her ankle as well.

“Who? Who?” Mama patted Lilia for the report as she heard the excitement erupt.

“Lisa and Derren,” Lilia informed her.

“Who asked?”

“She did, of course,” her husband laughed.

“Of course,” Mama grinned, listening to the rhythm of their bells as they danced together. “Go on,” she tapped her son on the back encouragingly. “Go go go.”

“Ma,” he protested bashfully, but seemed ready to stand.

Just as he was beginning to rise, another young man sprang up, causing Yan to sit back down, ducking his head in embarrassment.

“It’s alright,” Alís comforted. “At least you didn’t fully stand. You can go next.”

“Amir is proposing now,” Lilia reported to Mama. “Ah, I don’t remember his name, he lives in Merr. The seamstress’ son.”

“His name is also Yan,” she chuckled.

Once again the villagers cheered when the proposal was accepted and the couple joined the dance. Their own Yan did not wait for the clapping and whooping to die down before he took his chance, dodging the other couples as he crossed the circle and knelt before his dear Phyra.

“He’s done it!” Lilia clutched her mother’s arm gleefully. “Yan’s asked Phyra!”

The weaver reached forward to feel the empty chair for herself and clapped with joy at the news.

“You’re not going to ask if she’s accepted?” Papa teased.

“Of course she has,” she clasped her hands together over her heart.

Alís was relieved that her brother had at last asked for his beloved’s hand, but her delight was short-lived as she was approached herself.

Jalkan, the potter’s son, now knelt before her. Many considered him handsome, with his golden hair and sea green eyes, but for Alís, his crude manners and ego rendered any of his charm useless. She was not surprised at his bold gesture; he had been relentlessly pursuing her for years, ignoring all rejections of his advances, from polite excuses to direct refusals. Still, it seemed that many of the people of the village had come to believe that they were companions, no doubt by rumors that he himself had started. Even now they whispered in anticipation as they awaited her decision.

Looking him directly in the eye, Alís crossed her ankles and moved them further beneath her chair, shaking her head a little. Jalkan’s grin collapsed in disbelief and he opened his mouth a little as if to say something, but remained silent, eventually getting to his feet and returning to his seat. Instead of sitting, he jerked the chair out of the way and left the circle. There were a few giggles at his rejection, and plenty of remarks, including Lilia, who was bound to inform her mother of all goings on.

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“Alís just refused Jalkan,” she whispered with wide eyes.

“I thought he might ask her,” Madam Rinak muttered. “Although I prayed he would not.”

Of course Alís did not regret her decision, but she felt quite hot now; partially due to the unexpected attention, but also anger. She wanted to celebrate her family’s joy and welcome a dear friend into the family, not be faced with such disrespectful entitlement.

Soon the song ended, and the chance for betrothal concluded for the year. The circle of chairs was dismantled as friends and family members flocked to congratulate the couples that had gotten engaged. Alís hugged and kissed her brother and his bride-to-be, but was distracted. Jalkan stood off to the side, leaning against a tree in the shadows.

As angry as she was, she did not anticipate that Jalkan’s wrath would be greater. Over the next hour, as the villagers made merry and celebrated, his brow became more furrowed and his shoulders tense, until he approached Alís.

“How dare you make a fool of me,” he hissed, yanking the crown of yellow wildflowers from his head and casting it to the ground.

“I dare say you made a fool of yourself,” she retorted.

The nearby villagers quieted to watch their dispute with bated breath, eager for spectacle.

“I humbled myself, on my knees, offering everything I am.”

“You seem to forget,” she crossed her arms. “A proposal of marriage is of two parts; a question, which you have posed, and an answer, which I have given.”

“You know that I have waited for this day, and this year, when you were at last of age.”

“You have wasted your time then.”

“I could have married another in the meantime,” he declared with a haughty raise of his chin. “It would have been no difficulty for me.”

“Marriage is not an achievement,” Alís scoffed.

Jalkan seemed unsure of how to reply, so he changed tactics, holding his hands out imploringly.

“Long have I loved you,” he began ardently, but Alís laughed before he could go on.

“Truly? What is it that you love so dearly about me?”

“Alís, you are the most beautiful girl in Salmü; in the whole province.”

“So you’ve said before,” she replied coolly. “And yet not once has it felt like love.”

“Ah, what a thorny rose you are,” he crossed his arms with a scowl.

“Then don’t pick the rose.”

“Perhaps a lily would better suit me?”

“Leave my sister out of this!” Alís snapped.

Neither Jalkan nor Alís had the chance to say anything further, as Yan sprang forward and swung a fist, hitting the potter’s son on the cheek with a delicious smacking sound. Gasps and cries swept through the crowd of onlookers as the two of them fell to the ground in a tussle. Some shouted encouragement and others pleaded for them to break apart, accompanied by the jingling of bells from Yan’s ankle.

“Yan, get up!” Alís scolded; she hated when he fought, or indeed when any dispute collapsed into a physical fight, but she had to admit to herself that it was satisfying to see a punch land on Jalkan’s face.

Phyra was beside her, an anxious look on her pale face, but she did not discourage Yan.

“That’s enough!” Master Rinak, aided by Ilyen, reached into the fray to grab his son.

Some other villagers seized Jalkan as well, and they were pulled apart, their clothes rumpled and their breathing heavy. The potter’s son looked worse off, bleeding from his nose and lip, but Yan too had received some blows, as a bruise near his eye had begun to swell. Now that Yan had been removed from the fight, he was calmer, adjusting his tunic and brushing the dirt from himself with only glares at his adversary.

Jalkan, still teeming with frustration, shook the hands off his shoulders and stormed off.

“Well done,” Uncle Ilyen remarked to Alís with a grin and a pat on the back.

----------------------------------------

Before they had even come to a stop in the streets of Aldren, Alís heard her name shouted from above. Aunt Jain waved from the second story window, soon disappearing, only to emerge from the front door of the tea house.

“Welcome, welcome!” she sang out, a lantern in her hand; on its iron ring, a white ribbon had been tied into a neat bow. “How was your journey?”

“Easy and pleasant,” Alís dismounted, stepping gladly into her open arms.

Aunt Jain always dressed in very fine clothes, with embroidered sashes and delicate earrings. Alís inhaled when they embraced, and the cozy scent of dried herbs and candle smoke was in her dark hair of many braids.

“Please, come in, dearest.” Aunt Jain herded her inside while Uncle Ilyen set about taking care of the horse and cart.

Alís had not visited the tea house in quite some time, but it was just as she remembered it. The exposed timbers of the low ceiling were painted with leaves and flowers, and although the colors had faded over the years, they were still identifiable as varieties and flavors of tea. Great round tables of polished mahogany were placed around the middle of the room for larger parties, and smaller ones for one or two at a time were nestled in the cozy corners, such as beneath the stairs. The upper level was for private meetings, especially arrangements for matchmaking.

There were several guests seated throughout the main room, enjoying steaming cups of tea and conversing in low voices. It was a much quieter atmosphere than the tea house in Salmü, where there was often singing and dancing. Alís imagined that she would be able to read and study here, undisturbed by boisterous voices and rowdy laughter.

The high note of a kettle sang out, and without delay, Aunt Jain hurried behind the counter to remove it from the hot coals. Alís eagerly leaned against the counter to watch her make the tea; she had always loved seeing the process carried out by a real master of the art. From the wall of shelves behind her, Aunt Jain selected a canister with the word “chrysanthemum” written in traditional script with green ink. She opened the lid, holding it towards Alís so she could take in the floral aroma of the dried leaves.

“How lovely,” Alís sighed. “Who are you making it for?” She glanced around the room, but from what she could tell, everyone seated already had plenty of tea.

“This one is for us,” Aunt Jain smiled, scooping some of the contents into the latticed strainer that sat atop the ceramic tea pot. “It’s Ilyen’s favorite.”

She selected a few smaller containers of other leaves and herbs from the shelf, using a set of silver measuring spoons to add them to the mix. After putting away all the tools and containers, she stood quietly, watching the steam rise from the kettle nearby.

“I’m waiting for the water to cool a little,” she explained. “Just boiled water is fine for black teas, but for green, it will give it a burnt flavor. Don’t worry, my dear, I’ll teach you everything.” Aunt Jain reassured her as she noticed Alís’ worried gaze. “Your father writes that you have been practicing many arts. That includes music and dancing, I hope?”

“Yes, and language and calligraphy.”

“That reminds me, he sent some of your samples,” she opened a drawer and pulled out a small parcel tied with ribbon. Opening it, she revealed a few cards of Alís’ formal brushwork in the form of traditional poems, and a sash stitched with flowers and leaves.

“These are quite good,” the matchmaker nodded approvingly, shuffling through the calligraphy cards. “I can tell how hard you have worked. There are a thousand more small things to learn, but you’ve always been very diligent. I’m sure you’ll learn well.” Now that the water had been cooling for a few minutes, Aunt Jain poured the kettle over the waiting leaves, which already began to turn from dried black to lush green.

By now, Uncle Ilyen entered, greeting his wife with a kiss over the counter.

“Hello, love. How did things turn out with the-”

“I will tell you later,” she interrupted hastily, blinking her dark eyes at him warningly.

“Ah, of course,” he waved his hand as if clearing away the smoke of a candle and sat beside his niece. “Jain doesn’t like discussing other matches in front of clients. And you are a client now.”

“I suppose I am,” Alís mused. By now the tea had steeped long enough, so as the youngest, she lifted the glazed porcelain pot and poured it into the waiting cups for her aunt and uncle. Once she set the pot back down, Aunt Jain filled Alís’ cup as well, following tradition.

“We have exchanged several letters with your parents,” Aunt Jain began after sipping from her cup. “They have laid out what sort of match they hope to find for you, but I would not be doing my job properly if I didn’t ask what you were looking for.”

“Me?”

“You’re the one getting married,” Uncle Ilyen chuckled. “This is the twelfth age, for heaven’s sake; your opinion matters.”

Alís didn’t say anything for a moment, tasting the sweet and fragrant tea silently.

“Haven’t you thought about it?” Aunt Jain teased. “Or daydreamed, at least.”

“Of course I have. But now that a matchmaker is asking, it seems to matter more.”

“We ought to start broadly,” she suggested, pulling a small notebook and pencil from a pocket within her sashes, speaking as she wrote. “Alís Rinak: looking for a… man?”

“A man.”

“Profession or trade? Disposition? Appearance?”

“I don’t know where to begin,” Alís bit her lip, feeling overwhelmed.

“Perhaps it would be helpful,” Uncle Ilyen spoke up. “To think about what characteristics you wish to avoid. You already have a starting list.”

“What is he talking about?” Aunt Jain raised an eyebrow.

“I turned down a proposal,” she explained. “At this year’s St. Chiran’s feast.”

“You should have seen her,” Uncle Ilyen chuckled. “That fellow must be quite an idiot to have given it a shot, completely oblivious to how firmly you would reject him. A real fool.”

“He is.” Alís leaned her elbow on the counter, scowling as she thought back to that night. It was supposed to be a time of celebration for Yan and Phyra, and Jalkan had to go ahead and ruin things. Uncle Ilyen was right; she had a list of qualities she despised. Jalkan was proud and stubborn, and was a tease. She didn’t mind being made fun of a little, as long as it was affectionate, but he seemed to cross the line every time. And she felt uneasy about the way he even looked at her. He was loud and inconsiderate and hated being told no. Worst of all, he always tried to pass his insulting behavior off as mere jest; more than once his jeers had brought her to tears, only to insult her yet again for being overly sensitive and humorless.

“I want a man who is kind,” she said at last. “A genuinely kind heart. Well mannered is not enough; he must be caring.”

Aunt Jain nodded with a smile, writing everything in her little notebook.

“And please let him love books,” she added, although she blushed to say it, feeling that it was a foolish addition to follow such a serious thought.

“I assure you, my dear, every one of our clients is educated and well-read. You’re not in Salmü anymore.”

Feeling relief that she was in such good care, Alís let out a little sigh. Seeing that her aunt’s cup was less than half full, she dutifully lifted the pot to refill it. Aunt Jain nodded a little approvingly, making another note.

Just then, the door of the tea shop opened, causing the chimes to tinkle brightly.

“Ah, good afternoon,” Aunt Jain greeted as the newcomer entered and sat at the end of the counter. “Half pot of your usual?”

“One of our regular customers,” Uncle Ilyen remarked to Alís as his wife busied herself preparing the tea. Then his eyes widened a little as an idea seemed to enter his head. “Ah, he’s fairly new to Aldren as well. Perhaps you’d like a friend closer to your own age than those of us with greying hair. Shall I introduce you?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to disturb him,” she looked past her uncle at the young man who held the lid of the teapot for Aunt Jain as she poured the hot water.

“Nonsense, don’t let the armor scare you. Come.” He gently led her down the long counter towards him.

“Captain, I would like you to meet my niece, Alís Rinak. This is Captain Droln Erapel.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Alís bowed, doing her best to hide her shyness. Uncle Ilyen excused himself to attend to another customer on the other side of the room.

“Such a pleasure, Miss Rinak,” the captain bowed as well, a Kayuan accent threading his words together. “I have heard many things about you from Madam and Master Gerrin. You will work here?”

“Yes, for a little while. Do you live nearby?”

“No, I live in the western part of the city.” He politely gestured for her to sit beside him, so she did. “But we are near the palace. Sometimes I guard the gates.”

“The royal palace?” Alís was intrigued. “Have you been inside? You must have met some interesting and important people.”

Captain Droln nodded. “Sir Emyal Usul. The king’s wife. Prince Tolké.”

Her eyes widened, and she found herself speechless. She had only been in Aldren for a few hours, and already she had met someone with such high connections.

“Would you like to try?” the captain offered politely, holding his teapot aloft, ready to pour. “It is similar to what we drink at home.”

“Yes, thank you.”

He poured her a cup of the dark colored brew and she tasted it, surprised by the strong flavor.

“Bitter?” he laughed, deep dimples punctuating his smile.

“Yes, very bitter,” she set the cup down. “It’s nice. But strong.”

“My favorite,” he drank more of his own, still smiling. “Taste of home.”

“Where are you from?” she asked, hoping to practice her language skills.

“Your accent is good!” Droln exclaimed in surprise, his amber eyes wide. “I’m from Yannua. I lived in Iranása in Valasno for awhile before coming here to Aldren.”

“What made you come here?” she wondered, sliding a pot of honey nearer so she could spoon some into her cup.

“To see a new part of the Holy Empire,” he shrugged. “And to meet Sir Emyal.”

“To become a knight?” Alís switched back to Gelenian, unsure of the wording. She would have to study more vocabulary.

The captain smiled a little, seeming embarrassed by the ambition, but he nodded.

“And you? What will you become?”

“No one has asked me that before,” she chuckled, stirring the honey into the tea and tasting it again. Better. She could appreciate the depth of flavor now that the bitterness was lessened. “I will become a wife.”

“Your uncle tells me you sing and dance. You speak Kayuan very well. And other talents. All to become a wife?”

“Yes, but,” Alís began, but she didn’t know how to continue. He was looking at her intently, as if he truly wanted to know what she had to say. “Not only a wife,” she said at last. “First, if I can marry someone wealthy, I can help my family. My father is a carpenter, and he is getting older; I worry for his back and his hands. And my mother is blind, but she still works. Furthermore, if I became the wife of a wealthy man, I would be able to afford to take some time and study - really study, so I can try my hand at the civil service exam. And then, if I do well, maybe I can gain a title or office. And that would only be the beginning. I could do good things for people; ordinary people like my family.” She stopped to breathe. “Captain, forgive me. I did not mean to go on like that.”

“So,” he nodded, not seeming to mind her little speech. “You are not concerned for love?” He paused, furrowing his brow as he tried to figure out the correct wording. “Love is not a concern… for you?”

“I didn’t realize you were a romantic,” Alís teased, causing him to shrug. “There are other things that are more important. I’m sure that if my husband is good to me, I will love him in time.”

He lifted his cup to toast her. “Then I wish you well on your marriage.”

“And you on your knighthood,” she replied, raising her cup as well and drinking.

----------------------------------------

“Alís, quickly!” Aunt Jain waved her away. “You must not be seen! Hide in your room until we have finished meeting.”

Alís was of course curious to see the man who was here to discuss her as a possible match, but she knew it was important to follow her aunt’s instructions. Fighting her curiosity, she obediently hurried up the stairs to her corner room and closed the door. It would be unwise to expose herself too early; Uncle Ilyen had explained to her the great value of a first impression. A formal first meeting must be arranged according to specific traditions; only when she was properly dressed could she be presented. But still she wanted to learn as much as she could before that day.

Hearing the tinkling chimes over the tea house entrance, Alís pressed her ear to her bedroom door. She could hear a man’s low voice, and her aunt and uncle in reply, but no words were discernible from this distance. She imagined they were asking what sort of tea he would like for the visit, and soon after, footfalls on the staircase indicated that they would be sitting in the parlor just outside her bedroom. She smiled to herself, sitting more comfortably on the floor; she should be able to hear well enough after all.

“I thank you for meeting us here,” Uncle Ilyen was saying. “I know how busy you are.”

“It is no trouble at all,” the man replied. Alís imagined that he was smiling. “You have served my family very well. I am happy to come see you.”

More footsteps on the stairs sounded; Aunt Jain must be coming with the tea now.

“Please, sit,” she said, and the gentle clatter of the ceramic tea cups sounded, followed by pouring tea.

“I was pleased to hear that you already have a girl in mind,” the man once again sounded like he was speaking through a smile. “Given your excellent judgement, I am of course looking forward to meeting her, but I am aware you have many rules for the process. What may I know about her? A name?”

“Her familiar name is Alís,” Uncle Ilyen began. “She is from a small town, where her family owns land, but now she lives in the city with her aunt and uncle.”

Alís found it odd that they spoke of her as if she were not their own niece, but perhaps it was wise to conceal their connection this early.

“She is as accomplished and refined as any girl we know born in Aldren,” Aunt Jain added. “Name any skill, and she has mastered it.” There was a pause, then a sort of approving hum from the man; perhaps Aunt Jain had shown him her sample embroidery and brushwork.

“What about music?” the stranger asked hopefully. “You know how important that is.”

“A talented harpist,” Uncle Ilyen confirmed. “Sings well enough, and of course dances.”

“Performance dance,” Aunt Jain hurried to say. “As well as partnered.”

There was a quiet pause, punctuated by the sounds of teacups.

“I should like to know-”

“She speaks Kayuan-” Aunt Jain had begun at the same time. “Oh, forgive me.”

“No, please,” the man conceded, sounding interested. “She speaks Kayuan?”

“Very well. Speaks, reads, and writes.”

“My mother was born in the north, you know. We grew up speaking Kayuan at home.”

“Yes, of course.”

“You had a question?” Uncle Ilyen prompted. Alís was impressed with their politeness and focus.

“Yes. I feel a bit foolish to ask this, but... how does she look?”

Alís was taken aback by the question; was it rude to ask such a thing? She wondered if it was common in these sorts of meetings. Surely one would wonder; she herself wished to see what he looked like. And he sounded so polite that she decided she didn’t mind.

“Her name is very fitting,” Uncle Ilyen replied wisely. “N’alís yumar thá taelior.”

“The wild rose is the most beautiful,” the stranger repeated thoughtfully. “Saint Rynn’s second book of poems.”

Hearing this, Alís had to clamp a hand over her mouth in glee. Aunt Jain had been right; she only selected those who were well educated.

“Wild rose,” he said again with a chuckle. “How wild is she?”

“She is good company at a party,” Aunt Jain reassured him. “And isn’t afraid to give her opinion, but she is sweet and good natured.”

“I should like to meet her,” the man announced.

“We are happy to arrange it,” Uncle Ilyen replied, and Alís imagined them shaking hands.

Although she wasn’t sure how to imagine the stranger. Tall? Maybe he had a beard. Their footsteps passed her bedroom door and descended the stairs, and once again the distance muffled their words. Scrambling to her feet, she hurried to the small window over her bed to peer down at the street. To her delight, she was able to see him leaving the tea house. He was tall indeed, although most men were tall to her eyes. And he did have a beard, brown with a few grey hairs. His longish hair had a little grey as well, but he did not look old. Maybe thirty or so.

Now he had turned away, but she continued to watch him until he was out of sight. She liked the way he walked; confident, without drawing attention to himself. And his clothes were well made but not showy. Although she had gotten only a brief glimpse of his face, she was able to see just well enough to commit it to memory.

A knock sounded on her door, and she sat on her bed more naturally before calling to allow entry. Uncle Ilyen opened the door and poked his head in.

“All’s well so far,” he smiled. “I’m sure you overheard at least some of it, but nothing was said that you oughtn’t know about at this point.”

“He wants to set up the next meeting?”

“That’s right.”

“When?”

“In a few weeks.”

“That long?” she sighed, and her uncle laughed. "It's already been a month since I arrived here."

“I’m glad that you’re so eager. We have many meetings with other clients before then. Besides, your traditional gown and robes are still being sewn.” He then looked away, down the stairs to listen to Aunt Jain calling up to him. Nodding, he addressed Alís again. “Ah, your new friend Droln is here, he’s asking for you.”

----------------------------------------

Alís came down to meet Droln, who waved goodbye to Aunt Jain as he left the tea house with Alís.

“I thought I would take you to see the royal palace today,” he announced as they walked.

“The inside?” she blinked.

“Don’t you want to?”

“I’m nervous we’ll get caught.”

“We?” he laughed. “I work at the palace, I’m allowed to be there.”

She gave him a look, unamused by his unhelpful joke.

“You won’t be caught,” Droln shook his head, turning the corner. “Everyone will think I’m escorting you to meet someone.”

“And if they ask who it is I’m meeting?”

“We’ll say you’re meeting with your dear friend Prince Tolké.”

“You are refusing to be useful today,” Alís elbowed him with a huff.

“I wasn’t joking!” he insisted, dodging her jab as best he could. “If we had to lie, he’d play along; I’m sure of it.”

She paused, considering his plan.

“I suppose you would know. You see him often, don’t you?”

“Most days, yes. Sometimes he’ll come to the practice courtyard to watch us train.”

“Oh?”

“Or some days if I’m posted somewhere in the city, he’ll come see me.”

“Oh?” she said again.

“Yes?”

“Nothing,” she shrugged, but her eyes had a mischievous sparkle in them.

Droln did not press further, knowing it would only turn into interrogation of questions he himself had not tried to answer. Luckily, they were already at the wrought iron gates of the royal palace, and Alís’ attention was on what lay ahead. The guards posted there, knowing the captain, opened the gate to allow them entry with only friendly greetings.

Alís linked her arm through Droln’s so he could guide her while her eyes took in the wondrous sight of the garden and palace before her.

“We can go wherever you like,” he told her. “What would you like to see?”

“The council chamber.”

He hesitated, unsure. “That may not be allowed.”

“Then the king’s hall, where the throne is.”

He shook his head a little.

“Droln, please,” she sighed. “Where can we go?”

“I thought you would like to see the great hall where banquets are held. Or the statue gallery. Or the hall of tapestries, perhaps. There are several courtyards full of fountains and flowers and birds. There is of course a lovely tea house inside as well, we could share a pot.”

“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful,” Alís stopped walking, turning to face him. “I am sure it’s all beautiful, but I didn’t come to Aldren to look at things.”

The captain crossed his arms, looking both bewildered and impressed.

“You are steps away from some of the greatest art and craftsmanship in the entire kingdom, but your only thoughts are of your ambitions? To serve on the king’s council?”

“It’s important to me,” she insisted, fiddling with the string beads around her waist.

Droln took a slow breath and nodded.

“I know where to take you,” he offered his arm again, and she took it, grateful that he was so understanding.

Knowing now that she did not care to be impressed by the grand architecture or rich furnishings, Droln led Alís into the palace by a smaller door, rather than the enormous carved doors to the high-ceilinged front hall. Going by the most direct route, he brought her down a corridor, up a flight of stairs, and past a mezzanine to a pair of closed doors.

“Your ambitions are lofty,” he said, stopping in front of them. “And while I believe you may succeed one day, that day is a ways off. First you have to take the civil service exam.”

“And before that,” she sighed. “I have to study.”

He nodded, turning the handle on one of the doors and pushing it open for her. Peering in, Alís stifled a delighted squeal with a hand over her mouth. She took one of Droln’s hands in both of hers and squeezed it happily before entering the enormous library.

Every wall of the main room was covered in shelves from ceiling to floor, with a second story balcony that wrapped around the whole room. Sofas and chairs at desks filled the center of the space, and dozens of students and scholars sat quietly, buried in their books. Alís began to look at the volumes on the walls, seeing that she was in a section of law books and records of trials. Droln followed her as she explored through the atlases and travelers’ journals, and past the architectural plans until she stopped suddenly at an open arched doorway.

“There are other rooms,” she whispered in awe. Poking her head in, she looked back at her friend in wonder. “It’s full of scrolls. Heaven knows how old they are.” She scoffed a little in amazement and continued her route around the circumference of the room, glancing at those studying as she passed them. Many of them were certainly preparing for the exam. When she came to the next doorway, she caught her breath and stepped back suddenly, hiding.

“There’s someone crying in there.”

Concerned, Droln glanced through the doorway, also pulling back quickly.

“That’s Prince Tolké,” he said softly. “I should see if he’s alright. Can I leave you here?”

Alís smiled and gestured around at all the books.

“Please do.”

He touched his forehead to hers in silent thanks and slipped into the small chamber.

Tolké was still inside, alone, standing quite still with his arms crossed tightly across his middle and his head bowed. When he heard Droln’s footsteps he looked up, startled, wiping his eyes.

“Droln!” he tried to put on a smile, but it was a weak mask. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Are you alright?” Droln asked in a soft voice, not letting him change the subject.

The prince shook his head a little, trying to dismiss the question.

“It’s nothing. Just the usual… argument.”

Droln wanted to say something, but he felt it was not in his place to criticize the king; at least he assumed that's what had upset the prince so much. For the most part, Tolké was optimistic and cheerful, as far as Droln had seen, but any time that his smile had faded, it seemed to be due to the harsh words of the king. He wondered what criticism Gaon had given the young prince this time.

“It doesn’t matter,” Tolké insisted, taking a few slow breaths to calm himself. “He always gets this way this time of year. King’s Day is soon.”

“The anniversary of his coronation?”

“Officially, yes, that’s how most people see it. But those of us with medallions usually think of the events directly preceding it.”

“Your father’s death,” Droln realized with a sigh. “Tolké, I’m so sorry.”

“I’m alright. Gaon’s the sensitive one.” He crossed his arms again, this time looking more irritated than hurt. “He talks about our father endlessly, what he wanted, what he believed, what sort of man he was. But he can’t stand when I have something to say about him. I was too little to remember him, he says. Maybe he’s right.”

“No,” Droln disagreed firmly, touching the prince’s shoulder. “That isn’t fair. People are too complex to be fully understood by any one person. Your memories of him are as true as your brother’s.”

"Perhaps," the prince agreed softly. "At least I'll think about it. Thank you. What are you doing in the library, by the way?"

"Why so surprised?" the captain crossed his arms. "Do I not seem... bookly to you?"

 "Not exactly," Tolké chuckled, already appearing to have forgotten his tears. "Especially not if you use words like that."

"Fair enough. I'm here with a friend who is in fact rather bookly."

"I'll leave you to them then. But before you go, look at me," the prince faced him directly to show his face clearly. "Do I look like I've been crying?"

"You look how you always do," Droln confirmed after briefly examining Tolké for swollen eyes or redness.

"And how do I always look?"

"Normal," the captain said quickly, ignoring the other distracting words that came to mind.