by Reaya
Chapter One: Stepping Stones
Each sorrow is a stepping stone
you must surmount each day,
And every stepping stone you climb
is a sorrow that's passed away.
- Stepping Stones, by Debra L. Stitt
If this were half a decade ago, then maybe. If she still had the willpower and dream to do so, then maybe. But while she might still have the will, she knew her dream was much too...much too...dreamy to come true. But she had gotten over it already. Sort of.
With a small sigh, Alanna turned away from staring out the window and forced her scattered thoughts to return to the paper. What kind of poem would she like? The convent sisters had told her to think everything out before going; and while ecstatic at the thought of leaving this Godforsaken place—excuse the irony in using the expression—her fell right back down at the preparation.
Grace, elegance, courtly behavior—they had all been drummed into her head during the long five years she stayed here. Yet nothing, absolutely nothing, could pull her out of the dream state in which she did things. Some of the Sisters found this amusing, other frowned upon it in distaste, and a select few even admired her for it. For Alanna was always wrapped up in dreams. From the outrageous ones that had left her mouth the moment Maude had gone to the silent ones of today. Legends. Fairytales. She had soaked them all up. Could she be in one? Not likely.
Again, she pulled away from her thoughts, brow folded in concentration as she penned the poem. But at the end, it was still a fanciful story, linked together by rhyming stanzas. The fops at court might like it; the sisters probably wouldn't. But whatever; she'd hand it in anyway.
Footsteps approached, and she stood up quickly, brushing the crushed velvet of her gown free of imaginary dust. The Head Sister rapped on the door in the way only she did. Carefully, Alanna opened the door, head inclined as taught. She only raised it in time to catch the remnants of a small smile on the nun's lips. "Sister," she murmured quietly.
The nun nodded at the girl, whose brilliant copper tresses appeared unkempt. Yet the look suited her; the curls falling down her backside, hugging her small waist. "Lady Alanna," she chided softly. "You are not ready yet."
"Yes, Sister," she replied obediently. "But I would like some help, if you please."
The older woman smiled. "Of course. I will tell Rosemary to come help you." Dropping her voice even more, she said, "My dear, you're father will be so proud of you." Cupping her hand around the noble's small face, she kissed her forehead. "I give you my blessing from the bottom of my heart, Lady, and I do sincerely speak for your family, also."
Alanna returned it with a small smile. "Yes," she replied just as softly. "My family can go eat dirt." Her voice never changed in tone or volume; and she said it with total serenity. The Head Sister only shook her head and left, an amused expression her on face.
She looked on at the open hallway even after her visitor had left. "Yes," she agreed to herself again. "Thom is probably eating dirt; father's just breathing dust." Then, in a daze again, she floated off to the mirror, waiting for Rosemary. She would never dream of dressing herself; to think, the horror of it! A noble lady, whose lineage stretched back to the Book of Gold, donning her own skirts—decorating her own hair? Preposterous.
Her eyes lifted to regard the girl staring back at her over the polished surface. Red curls framing a small face, violet drops tingeing the pupils, small cheekbones set in porcelain skin. I need to get out more, she mused. Once again, she moved; this time to the windowsill.
Unclasping the lock, she opened the shutters and leaned out, head resting on hand. Her window looked over the walls of the convent, letting her glimpse the outside world. She caught sight of a familiar stable boy. "Roby!" She called lightly, knowing the wind would carry it down. The boy looked up a smiled. She blew him a kiss and motioned for him to climb the wall.
Quick to please, the slightly simple-minded, but loyal little boy did as she bid. "Roby," she repeated. "Have you seen Liam about?" The boy nodded eagerly. "Good. Can you get him? Tell him I need to talk to him quickly. Here," she reached into the folds of her gown and pulled out a copper, putting it in the boy's outreached hands. "Spend it wisely," she reprimanded gently. Roby nodded again and scrambled off.
"Lady Alanna?" A young nun entered the room, looking around aglow at the open doors and the untouched surfaces. The lady was famed to be in a daze at all times, but she never expected a room witch looked half untouched in all the year's she'd been here.
"Yes?" The lady was at the window when she turned around. Though almost three years older than the novice, the Lady was half a head shorter. Rosemary shrugged to herself. She was taller than most girls her age anyway. This lady was just probably very short. She watched as the Lady's smile slowly faded. "You must be Rosemary," she acknowledged, her tone no longer holding the happy greeting it did at her reply. Did she say or do something wrong to cause this reaction?
Rosemary stared at the floor. "Yes, lady. The Sister informed me that I would be helping with your last preparations."
Alanna tilted her head to the side. The girl seemed so gloomy all of a sudden. "It's nothing you did," she amended.
The young nun was confused. "Nothing I did?"
She nodded. "It's just the thought of leaving," she clarified.
"Oh." The girl walked in and took the comb from the table as Alanna took a seat. Gingerly, the girl brushed away the tangles; amazed at the exotic coloring of her current mistress. Still, she fidgeted in the silence; she was used to talking with fellow novices her own age, and this was her first time attending one of the ladies. Usually, young girls here were paired to take care of a noble girl at her entrance, but for some reason or the other, Lady Alanna never had a consistent one. She wondered why.
She returned to the previous topic. "Lady Alanna?" she put forth meekly.
"Hmm?"
"When you said about the thought of leaving...do you want to stay on?" Rosemary was itching for conversation; she didn't care anymore if you really weren't supposed to talk. And with the gossip floating around—especially in a place of total female residence—there was a lot of it. In this case, gossip had gotten around that Lady Alanna didn't care much for traditional rules; unless they had been specially pressed upon her.
The young woman laughed. It wasn't a real laugh; no, it had a distinct sardonic undertone to it. And it didn't sound like bells either, the way Clia told her Noble ladies' laughs were supposed to sound. But Rosemary liked it; it made her vision of the class much more human and less out of reach. "Stay on? I wouldn't dream of it. But go to the palace?" She gave a small shiver. "That place brings bad thoughts."
"Bad thoughts?" She paused in her surprise. "Have you gone there before?"
She shook her head. "No; never in my entire life. My father never even informed the King that we had been born, actually. But that place just smothers everything..."
Rosemary, thrilled at her reaction, so contrary to the other lady she had dared interrogate a few years ago—the Lady Delia, was it?—that she had to hear more, interesting or not. And her reaction was so different, so genuine. "But, my lady, how can it smother everything if you haven't been there?"
She shrugged. "You must have heard the gossip about my arrival here," she paused to wait the answer. Upon the girl's confirming nod in the mirror, she continued. "Well, they smother all the heart I put behind those."
The girl's eyes widened visibly. "You actually sought to become a knight?"
A small smile tugged at the corner of the lady's lips, but she never did really show it. "Maybe." Rosemary took it as a sign to stop the questions, and instead set to work on giving style to the hair, twisting it into masses of copper braids.
Just as she began on the last one, a small rock flew in the window, landing with a clatter on the stone floor. The lady pulled out of her chair and moved quickly to the window. "Liam!" she called. Rosemary frowned. Was she really seeing men? The lady turned to her. "Don't tell anyone, please?"
Lost in questions, the girl nodded. She looked up again just in time to see her, in a swirl of braids and crushed velvet, disappear out the window. Did she jump? The girl rushed to window, staring down in shock, and then relief when she saw that a man standing on the wall had helped her lady down. He pointed her out to her and she waved, putting finger to lips again to remind her. Rosemary nodded and disappeared inside again.
"Who was that?" Liam asked Alanna once they where both seated under a crab apple tree, out of all view from the windows of the convent.
"Rosemary," was all he got in the way of an answer. "Don't worry, though," she assured him. "She won't tell." The Shang Dragon looked at her, skeptic. He was clearly unsure whether or not to believe her. "It's not like she thinks we're seeing each other in secret for some stolen kisses, right?"
Liam looked away. Alanna would say the most damnable things without regard if let be. "And what if she thought exactly that?" he asked, frowning.
"Then she still wouldn't tell."
He sighed. "Okay. But what was it you wanted to tell me?"
Alanna lifted her head up and stared at the overhanging braches of the withered tree. "I'm not sure..." He let her be in her dream state for a while, knowing that she was deep in thought as the brilliant hue of her eyes glazed over and faded slightly. She would talk in her own time.
Turning his attentions elsewhere, he began dissecting a piece of grass. So caught up in his work was he, that Alanna's sudden answer got him in surprise. "I want to kill someone." It unnerved him like nothing else. She said it in total seriousness, yet her voice had no anger or any emotion other than a taste of curiosity.
"What?" He jerked around to face her. Seeing the wry grin on her face he shook it head. "You can't do that without learning to actually hold the weapon properly," he teased.
"I can too hold the sword! I just can't swing it properly, that's all," she defended. She kicked his shin lightly. "And Sir Dragon here won't teach me."
The Shang Dragon laughed. "Oh, but I did teach you. You just didn't have time to practice or the strength to keep at it." Then, as an afterthought added, "Or the brains to learn, for that matter." He was pelted by flood of rotten apples.
"You just didn't have the talent to teach," she threw back.
He knew better than to throw apples back at her; her dress was ruined too much as it is. The common birth of the Shang legend didn't make him any more comfortable with Nobles. Especially noble women with magic. So he decided to change the topic. "You know what I think of every time I see you?"
"How in the world you managed to get yourself caught up in helping a crazy girl sneak out of the convent and teach her a few sword tricks?" she jeered.
He thought about it for a bit. "Yeah, sort of. What I really remember is you in those stolen overlarge breeches and tunic riding on the stolen pony, charging down at the group of bandits."
Alanna's eyes narrowed, knowing fully well what he was going to recite. "Hey," she protested. "You had yourself stuck between a rock and a hard place."
Liam chuckled. "Maybe I wanted to be there," he countered. "But it still makes me laugh; your hair a mess behind you and in your face as you ran down that one idiot with a pitchfork. Not exactly the most gallant weapon, you know."
"I improvised," she replied defensively. "It was that or a horse whip."
"I would have chosen the horse whip. But to each their own I guess." Then he snickered. "And it all ends with the girl playing hero being the damsel in distress."
"Shut up." Another apple rushed past his head. "You've just ruined all the years I've deluded myself into thinking that I saved you." She sighed. "At least I know I distracted them so you could beat them up."
"Actually—" A hand covered his mouth.
"Don't ruin my memories any further." She moved away slowly, flinging another apple. "I'm leaving tomorrow, so I want only heroic memories."
The Dragon snorted, but complied. In the years he had known her through scattered visits, he had begun to look to the girl as a daughter. "Okay, I'll let leave with your little dreams running around you head." Then he paused. "What do you mean you're leaving tomorrow?!"
"Exactly what I said: I'm being sent to the palace." She leaned forward and pecked his cheek quickly. "Visit, kay?" With that, she lifted her skirts and ran back to her window.
The ride to the Capital was tedious and uncomfortable. No one talked; no one gossiped. Just the way Alanna liked it. However, even the most dream-crazed female needs a breather at some point; and there was none in the week it was taking. But neither would she do anything further than thinking about riding with the guards—she didn't want people looking at her as if she were some poor mongrel who lost her mind, like the first year of the convent
But at the moment on the day Alanna really was ready to blow, they entered the gates of Corus. The early morning light put the crowded city in new perspective. Venders went about setting up their booths, children ran underneath the men and women, oblivious to all but their games. And behind it all towered the Royal Palace, where she would make residence for the next few years. The palace which she should have stayed in for the past five years and the next three.
The place where Thom was.
Author's Note: Miss me? It's been what—a year? I'm horrible, I admit. So here's the first chapter (the revised prologue, if you'll notice). I found the old one much too cliché for my current tastes. My writing style also change, so that's a good thing. Um...since it's summer I'll be able to update more. Now, you want to hear the tragedy that happened to me a bit ago? No? I'll tell you anyway: All my files got erased. And since I no longer have any copies of the old 'Prince's Lady', I decided to settle down and write this. So go thank my dad for busting all my files for this chapter. And yes, they're all going to be this long, or longer. I think...