“Andev. Igone. Murel. Linea.” Lyssia whispered the names to herself as she sank into the shadows beneath the lip of the empty, open-sided tent. Activity swirled all around her, but she sat still and repeated the names of the expected visitors, because remembering their names was the only job she had been given.

Horse and oxen hooves pounded the grass in the section of the field closest to the crossroads. Worker’s dirt-encrusted boots traveled back and forth between carts and tents, setting up for that day's festivities. More delicately made slippers, peeking out below long skirts, and thinner soled boots polished to shine loitered in groups amongst the tents, while half a dozen previously clean boots and trousers ran through the churned mud that marked some hard used area of the field. These belonged to her cousin and his playmates. She could hear them shouting challenges back and forth, but she didn’t look up.

She had overheard someone say that the Mart that was usually held here had been packed up for the year just yesterday. The field had not yet recovered from the crowds, but her father had wanted someplace festive for their first meeting with---

"Andev. Igone. Murel. Linea."

---the Listorians and their shared celebration of Aon-Yute.

"Why do you look at the ground so much?”

Lyssia jumped to her feet and spun around. “Az...Az…”

“Azerian,” the boy said, raising his hand and pointing to himself.

“I know. You just...startled me.”

"Oh, I'm sorry." He plopped down on the ground where she had been crouching and smiled up at her. Lyssia drew her arms around herself, her gaze darting uncertainly at his shoes - which appeared to be a size too big for his feet - and his undyed mask.

Azerian and his mother were new arrivals at the stead. They had shown up three full moons ago when the cold of winter had reached its peak, alone and in need of shelter. Azerian was just a few months older than her, or so she had been told. She had turned ten on the day the grain fields were harvested.

Azerian and his mother, Carryn, seemed nice enough, though she hadn't had much time to get to know them. Her father had been adamant that she spend as much time as possible studying the history of Ilvana and their Eastern neighbor, Listoria.

"It will not do for you to embarrass yourself, or me."

Lyssia screwed her eyes tight. Andev. Igone. Murel. Lins...Lin...

"So why do you?"

"What?" She opened her eyes to find Azerian had scooted closer and was now on his knees.

"Why do you stare at the ground so much?"

"I'm not staring at the ground. I'm looking…" Lyssia bit her lip, too embarrassed to continue. But Azerian's wide eyes seemed so genuinely curious.

Lyssia sank slowly back into a crouch, resting on her heels, and reached for a stick that lay on the ground. She pretended to be fascinated by it, holding it up to the sun and picking at an exposed strip of bark. "I was looking at people's shoes. You can learn a lot from shoes."

"Yeah?" Azerian turned his head to the side and peered at the nearest group of shoes. "Hmm. Maybe. Seems like you'd miss a lot always looking down though."

Lyssia shrugged and turned the stick over, rubbing the rough bark with her thumb. A long moment of silence stretched between them.

"You hungry?" Azerian asked.

Lyssia's stomach rumbled in response.

Azerian giggled and jammed a hand into his pocket, pulling out a plump red apple. He polished it with his sleeve before holding it out to her.

"For me?"

"Yeah."

"Th...thank you." Lyssia held the apple up to her nose and took a deep breath. It smelled freshly picked, not like it had been sitting in a barrel for a month waiting to be eaten.

"I'd be quick about eating it. It's actually Roakev's. I kinda took it from his bags when he wasn't looking."

"You stole it? I don't want...You should take it---"

"Hey!"

Azerian wrapped his hand around hers, hiding the apple. Lyssia's heart hammered loud in her ears as she tugged their interlocked hands toward the deep pocket hidden in the folds of her skirt. Azerian found the pocket opening and pushed the apple through and then brought her hand to the ground. He laid his hand beside hers and leaned back on it, appearing at ease.

"Sounds interesting. Do tell me more about...that."

Lyssia fought to keep the corners of her mouth from lifting. "You first."

Azerian laughed again, this time letting out an amused snort that prompted Lyssia's smile to break loose.

"Hey, Azerian! Leave Lyssia be!" Roakev shouted, yanking Azerian to his feet and away from her.

Azerian yelped. "Why? What did I do?"

"I'm sorry, my lady." Roakev bowed to her, pulling Azerian down with him, and then, hand firmly clasped around Azerian's upper arm, he retreated to where his friends were waiting.

"She likes to be alone with her thoughts," Lyssia heard him explain.

"She does?" Azerian twisted around and waved at her. Lyssia waved back, her arm flopping sadly onto her lap when he stumbled and had to turn back around.

Roakev released the weary sigh of a twelve-year-old always having to explain himself. "Yes. All women do."

"Ohhh..."

Lyssia picked up the stick that she had been messing with earlier and threw it at Roakev's back, a silent act of defiance. It fell short several feet, but she saw Azerian look back and grin.

She ignored him, hunching over her knees and burying her face in her arms.

"Andev. Igone. Murel. Linea. Andev. Ig---"

"Lyssia!"

Lyssia separated her arms so she could peer between them. The summons came from Azerian's mother, Carryn. She was standing beside three other women. Roakev's mother, Nimeah, was among them.

Nimeah held one pale arm over her swollen stomach. The other was threaded through the arm of the squat woman standing beside her. Lyssia kept her eyes locked on her as she stood and started forward. Nimeah gave Lyssia a small smile, but before she reached the group, her aunt took hold of the fourth woman's arm and whispered something in her ear. The woman nodded, and Nimeah was led away by the two strangers without a backwards glance.

"Lyssia." Carryn drew her attention away from Nimeah. "Nimeah didn't want you to worry about her. She's just exhausted is all. She'll be fine."

Lyssia shrugged. Carryn's smile wavered a tiny bit, and Lyssia got the impression that she had expected a different reaction.

"Was there something you wanted, Lady...Aunt...Carryn?"

"You may call me Aunt. Or just Carryn, if you prefer. I only wished to tell you..." She leaned forward and took Lyssia by the shoulders. The warmth of her smile reached her golden-brown eyes. "You're beautiful!"

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

"I am?" Lyssia squealed

"Yes, you are." Carryn's hands swept up and down Lyssia's arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Lyssia shivered at the unusual but pleasant feeling.

Carryn dropped one of Lyssia's hands and reached up to tug on the collar of Lyssia's dress and then the end of her ponytail. Lyssia's attention was caught by the hand that still held hers in a loose embrace.

It had taken Lyssia several days after Carryn's arrival for her to notice that her aunt's hands were different. It was hard to tell that there was anything to see when she wore gloves, which she did often. But she wasn't wearing gloves today, and it was clear as day that she had only three fingers on her left hand. The pinkie finger and the one beside it were missing.

Carryn had wrapped a long strip of fabric over the smooth curve where her fingers should have been, the knot hidden in the layered bands of fabric that encircled her wrist. Lyssia didn't know if Carryn covered her hand for herself or her others, but she thought she wouldn't mind. Carryn's hand felt just like any other hand, soft and warm in her own. She was sure she wouldn't flinch at the sight of it unwrapped.

"Would you like me to braid your hair like mine? It wouldn't take long, and I would be grateful for the distraction. It helps to keep my hands busy when I'm nervous."

Lyssia's eyes jumped to Carryn's. "You're nervous?"

“A little,” Carryn said and shrugged as if it was no big thing to admit.

Tears welled up in Lyssia’s eyes. She dared not open her mouth and risk ending this delicate moment. Holding fast to Carryn’s wrapped hand, she plopped straight down on the grass and began undoing her hair ties.

"Not here, silly," Carryn laughed, tugging Lyssia back to her feet. "Let's find some shade." Squeezing Lyssia's hand tight, she pulled in the direction of the tent that Nimeah and her companions had found shelter in.

Carryn ignored them as she pulled the fourth chair out from their table and positioned it so that Lyssia could sit and watch the last of the items being removed from the carts.

"I believe"---Carryn said as she gently tugged at the tie that held Lyssia's hair back---"they're setting out food in that tent for your young guests. I can go over and take a look at it with you if you want. Make sure everything is set up the way you want it."

"Okay." Lyssia bounced on her seat in excitement. Then her hair was free, and Carryn was running her fingers through her frizzy locks, and all she could do was lean back against her chair and sigh.

"What's this?" Carryn asked tugging gently at the thin silver chain and circular lock that hung behind her right ear. She traced the raised seam that traveled down from the chain to where the mask ended just below her chin.

"A lock! Your father...he doesn't...does he lock your masks?"

Lyssia squirmed uncomfortably. "He used to, but not anymore. Not usually. He said just for today. Just in case."

"In case of what? Why does he always ---Oh, never mind. Those are not questions for you."

Carryn's fingers attacked Lyssia's forehead and scalp, smoothing all the worried lines and knots away. She gathered Lyssia's frizzy mass of hair and smoothed it down over the back of the chair. Then she used her fingers as combs, humming a merry tune as she worked all the kinks out.

Lyssia felt Carryn brush her hair toward her left shoulder and start to make a tight braid. Her injured hand did not seem to slow her down at all. Lyssia closed her eyes and imagined the final product. It would look like a lopsided crown, and the end would rest on a graceful curve over her right shoulder, just as her aunt's did. She imagined tossing it over her shoulder as she laughed at a guest's joke, the motion appearing confident and carefree.

Carryn pulled at the braid and Lyssia, drawn from her daydream, winced.

"Sorry," she said, shifting so Lyssia could see her apologetic smile. "Halfway there."

"Lyssia!" A deep voice called from across the gathering field, shattering Lyssia's bubble of calm.

Lyssia tapped the edge of her mask, her hand shaking with sudden nerves. She scooted forward in her seat and started to rise, but Carryn drew her back and placed a restraining hand on her shoulder.

"Breathe," she whispered. "Just breathe."

Again, Lyssia's father called her name, and then closer, "Carryn!"

Carryn rested her chin on top of Lyssia’s head and exhaled, inhaled, and exhaled again, her mouth shut tight. Lyssia heard her open her mouth and inhale to speak, but she shut it closed again when her father continued.

"Lyssia, did you hear me calling you? And Carryn, what are you doing? We don't have time for this! Andev and his party will be here any moment."

He paced a circle around Lyssia's chair. She bowed her head beneath his glowering gaze. Carryn cleared her throat, and he stopped and turned to glare at her.

"Dizean, I do not expect you to understand, but we girls need this time to ourselves. Every once in a while, we just need to take five minutes to fix our hair."

Dizean huffed, put off by Carryn's calm answer. "She...she looked just fine. Fine enough to meet the Listorians. But what I don't know is if she remembers their names. It will be an embarrassment to us all if she doesn't."

"I do know their names, father. I've been practicing."

Carryn's hand on Lyssia's brow now was comforting as she paused to sweep a loose strand of hair back into her hold. "Of course you have been. We only need a minute or two, Dizean. I'll send her running back to you as soon as I'm done."

"Well…" He shook his head, his gaze drifting out to the crossroads and beyond. "Two minutes." He strode out of the tent's wide opening, calling for a worker's attention.

"Two minutes…" Carryn muttered to herself as she resumed her work. Lyssia kicked her feet against the legs of her chair, eyes downcast and wet with unshed tears.

"There. I'm done. No, wait…" Carryn bent to pluck a small white daisy growing near Lyssia's feet and threaded the long stem into the top part of the braid, fixing the bloom to rest by her right ear and hiding the silver lock from sight. "Now I'm done."

Dizean returned as Carryn helped Lyssia to her feet, looking her up and down with a cold stare. Lyssia lifted her head to meet his gaze, and his eyes softened. "Good. She looks...you look...good. Come to my tent. I have some things to go over with you before our guests’ arrival."

"Yes, father." Lyssia lowered herself into a practiced curtsy. He pivoted on his heel and marched off toward the largest tent. Lyssia started to follow him but turned back quickly and threw herself into her aunt's arms. "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."

Carryn's arms encircled her, and she bent to whisper in her ear, "You are beautiful." She pulled back so she could look into Lyssia's eyes. "We all have our own ways of dealing with nerves. Some of us get quiet and some of us get loud. Don't let it throw you. Just breathe. In-out-in. And smile. I know you'll be just fine."

She dropped her arms, releasing Lyssia, but Lyssia only clung to her skirts tighter. “Please. I want to spend more time with you.”

Carryn’s arms were around her again, but this time she was pushing Lyssia away. Her hands clamped around Lyssia’s as she held her at arm’s length and smiled down at her. “We will. Starting today. Your father needs you now, but I’ll come to you later. I love you, Lyssia-ami. Just remember to breathe.”

Lyssia nodded, her throat thick with an emotion she couldn’t name. Carryn released her other arm, and she turned quickly, racing halfway across the gathering space before she realized she wasn’t supposed to run. She stopped short and folded her hands before her, counting ten fast heartbeats before she started forward at a more measured pace.

She could see her father pacing in his tent. He sat in one of the chairs set slightly apart from the food-laden table, but he seemed incapable of sitting still. First one leg then the other began to bounce, and his neck jerked from side to side as he attempted to relax. Suddenly, he slapped his hands on his knees, pushed himself to his feet, and started pacing again.

He is nervous. Lyssia’s mind rejected the thought of her father having anything but perfect composure, but she could not deny what her eyes could plainly see.

He turned in his pacing and spotted her. “Lyssia!”

Lyssia jumped back at his shout, but she hurried to take the hand he held out to her. He led her to the chair he had recently vacated and watched her seat herself on the edge of the seat and smooth her skirts out. She swept her braid over her shoulder, picturing Carryn instructing her to breathe.

One deep breath in, out, in. “Listoria is our neighbor to the east. Ilvana and Listoria are sisters, thus named by the Drakun Kongren who settled their borders. The Kongr of Ilvana is Andev, so named after his grandfather, who was known as Andev the Clear-sighted. Andev’s Drottingr is Igone of the green thumb, which...I’m not sure I understand what that means, but I plan to avoid discussion of titles and the color green altogether.”

Lyssia had to stop to take another breath. She peeked up at her father, who nodded for her to continue. It was impossible to tell if he was impressed by her recitation.

“Kongr Andev and his wife have four children. The Drottines of Listoria are twins, born eight years ago. Their mother named them after---”

A commotion interrupted Lyssia's speech. Her father crossed to the side of the tent that faced the crossroads. Rising behind the hammered wooden post was a steep hill, a perfect vantage point for those approaching the meeting field.

A figure on horseback had sat sentinel atop the hill since the Kongr's party left the high ground for the field. He had abandoned his post and was now cantering toward them. Lyssia’s attention was caught between the fast-approaching horse wearing tack branded with the mark of Ilvana and the cart that had just created the hill.

The oxen-pulled vehicle was topped with a tan covering tied to stakes that ran the length of the high cart sides. Sitting beneath the covering and shielded from the direct sun were several light-skinned figures, all with pale hair that hung straight down their backs. Little else was distinguishable from this distance except the mark painted on the side of the cart: a five-petaled yellow flower surrounded by three dark arrow-shaped leaves.

A second cart pulled up beside the first along with a dozen men on horseback. They stretched out in a line, waiting for the lone Ilvanian rider to return with an invitation to approach. Lyssia's thoughts were so completely caught up in imagining the faces attached to those figures riding in the Listoria’s cart that she was only vaguely aware of the rider pulling up before the tent and bending on one knee before her father.

"My Kongr, Drottine."

"Bjarke."

Lyssia's head whipped around. On his knee, Bjarke crouched at her eye level. Hastily, Lyssia lowered her gaze.

"What news, Skald?"

"Andev of Listoria and his kinsmen approach. Will they receive a warm welcome at your table?"

"I extend a hand of friendship to Listoria. Andev and his kinsmen are welcome at my table. I declare that they are under my protection. Let it be known, and escort them here to us."

**********

With a swirl of his dark cape, Bjarke was astride his horse and...