A soldier's daughterA Chapter by IsemayDressed in the embroidered indigo gown, she felt like a child playing dress-up. She hated the gowns she had to wear for royal functions. She had loved them when she was first sent to court, she had never seen such beautiful dresses and her grandfather had doted on her because she looked so much like her mother. Her cousins had seen to it that her love of the dresses didn’t last long. They mocked her choices mercilessly, every dress, every color, was ridiculed. Indigo was the worst, she had loved it best. Now when she saw it she could only think of their laughter.
She closed her eyes and breathed. She pulled the mask she had learned to wear across her face. Cold and imperious, her blue eyes always looked darker when she wore indigo making it more difficult to appear icy. She watched in the mirror as Keya twisted and coiled her flaxen hair, pinning it into place with plain gold combs, before she carefully applied gold paint to her ridged ears. The style in court was to paint intricate designs from the inner ear out across the ridges and fan. Vaeri preferred to apply just a bit under the ridges and a thinning line extending past them that curled gracefully as it reached the edge of the fan, enough for someone to see when they looked, but not enough to draw their eye.
When she was dressed and ready she allowed herself to be taken in the small carriage up to the guest's entrance of the Tor. As she entered and looked coolly at the welcoming servants, she heard a quiet angry voice behind the curtains to her left. From the accent, she was certain he was Meazyr. She almost passed by, but decided she was curious enough to see who was foolish enough to provoke one to anger.
She cautiously peered around the edge of the curtain. A tall man in a dress uniform, for the Meazyr that entailed black leather and gleaming black scale armour, his ears were pierced and hung with fine silver chain and the fan was torn in places. His tied back hair and skin were dark like the meaza trees from which his people took their name. The anger on his scarred face made the servant in front of him quail. He looked at her in desperation. It would be rude to walk away now.
“Is there a problem?” She inquired as she stepped forward.
The Meazyr looked at her with a scowl and remained silent.
She looked to the servant for an explanation. “His-his hand Lady. The King was clear! No weapons are permitted!”
Vaeri came closer and noticed that one of the Meazyr’s hands was larger than the other, it looked almost like an armoured glove of some kind.
“A glove?” She inquired carefully looking up at the scarred Meazyr.
“Mina handt.” His dark eyes glittered.
“How is it a weapon?” she asked the servant with a note of annoyance in her voice.
The Meazyr raised his left hand and twisted it with a jerk as he made a partial fist. The back of the hand came open cleverly and turned it into something between a very small shield and an edged weapon.
Vaeri was fascinated. She reached out and gently took hold of his arm, carefully looking it over, the hand that had looked like a glove was made of metal.
She looked back up at him with a smile, “That is beautifully made. I had only ever heard of things like this.”
He looked down at her bemused. “A handt of stal doesn’t shock je and a sharp kling doesn’t frighten je?”
Vaeri laughed. “No, I’m a soldier’s daughter.” She might have said more but he lifted his right hand and lightly touched her ear. It stopped the world for a moment.
“A soldier’s daughter witt gold paint on her ohrn?” The mockery in his tone struck her like a closed fist.
She stepped back and released his left arm, turning away abruptly. She started toward the entrance to the inner chambers, feeling her cheeks turning red.
Once inside she immediately looked for the freshening room. She looked in the mirror and pressed cool white-petal-water to her cheeks. After she managed to get her face back into the cold mask she needed it to be she left the room and began to mingle, speaking coolly and politely to those she knew and graciously acknowledging the presence of those she did not. She avoided her cousins as much as possible and they returned the favor. Her uncle would not be seen until the meal, that was as he preferred it. By the time they were gathered for the meal the evening had begun to feel like any other.
She looked at the royal table and tried to surreptitiously count the places. I would depend on her uncle's mood whether or not she was expected to dine at his table. The first time she had been sent to eat with the non-royal nobles she had been mortified. Not because she was enamoured of eating with her cousins, but because she had been directed to the other table in front of other guests. It was more than a slight, it was a deliberate humiliation.
It seemed to be one that was not going to be repeated tonight. Her cousin Tanril made a beckoning gesture and Vaeri inclined her head gracefully as she moved purposefully to the table, sitting at the very end. She smoothed her skirt and took a sip of the water the servant poured. Water could be drunk at any time, wine could only be had once the King had tasted his.
To her surprise, the scarred Meazyr joined her as if conjured from the air. He sat next to her and frowned. She turned her head and looked out over the other tables, ignoring him and holding her frosty mask in place.
“I intended to leave.” He spoke more quietly than he had before but his angry tone was very nearly the same. “When je did not allow me de glegenheidt to discover how I gave insult, to remove it, I was forced to pursue je.”
“Consider the insult removed.” She said icily without bothering to look at him.
“The Princes of Draim consider demselfs soldiers?” He asked scornfully.
“No. A Princess of Draim chose to marry a soldier. Her father had him elevated in rank and granted title to avoid embarrassment, but he never stopped being a soldier.” She looked at him with all of the distaste of someone forced to speak to a reeking pile of s**t while keeping her voice sickening sweet, a skill she had acquired and honed since joining her uncle’s court.
He grunted. “Zoldendochter, jer fader lets je paint jer ears?”
“For someone who claims he wishes to remove insult, you don’t speak like it.” She parried his question with a pointed observation, turning her head away again.
He made a sound in his throat, she couldn’t quite tell if it was a low laugh or perhaps a cough. She turned her head just enough to look at him out of the corner of her eye.
“I left my hand witt jer uncle’s servant to speak witt je and je turn jer face away, insulting je seems to be the only way to make je look at me, Zoldendochter.” His voice carried the same mocking tone it had before.
She turned to glare at him, feeling her face start to redden. She noticed his eyes moving over her face, and he looked as though he wished to speak but could not summon words. When she heard her cousin’s laughter she turned her head to look, letting the familiar weight of bitterness pull the mask back over her face, her cheeks cooled themselves.
Tanril was leaning in conversation with one of the Princes. When he stopped laughing he spoke loudly across the distance, conversations quieting to hear him.
“Klinglach says he hasn’t seen that look on his brother’s face since he last saw a sword he could not have.” He was smirking and the Prince of Klinglach looked amused.
She curved her lips in the cold imitation of a smile required as a response and inclined her head politely. Klinglach, that was one of the Princes’ titles, which would make the one at her side a Prince as well. She would feign ignorance until corrected, if he asked her cousins they would undoubtedly be glad to tell him that she wasn’t very bright.
The trumpets announcing her uncle’s entrance sounded and all in the hall stood, the Princes including the one next to her stood only after the King had entered and nearly reached his throne-like chair at the center of the table. If he noticed the deliberate slight he didn’t allow it to show. He welcomed his guests with the booming voice that always seemed strange coming from a man of his build. He was slight, all of his children were taller, though they all shared the same sharp delicate features. It wasn’t until you spoke with him that he seemed larger, he managed to cut everyone around him down to a size that let him tower with words sharper than a Meazyr blade. © 2017 IsemayAuthor's Note
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