Kitty
Chapter 1: Diary
It is hard to put into words what one feels when one is on the cusp of spinsterhood. I, Ranisia Nimiar Astiar will soon be seeing my thirtieth summer. It is not so bad a thing to be old and wise I assure you – one gets to see the world through a more mature lens; but it is not so good a thing to be old, wise, and the sole heir to a county.
Because one, especially a lady in such a position would soon find herself beset by young and old bucks alike. The young dandies enjoy the hunt, the chase of the dew-eyed doe. They would kill her, strip her of her fur, and possibly take her fawn as well. In other words, they would strip her of her dignity and rob her of her wealth.
I have read about such a scenario in one of the old memoirs. The Duchess of Fragonia, more concerned with nurturing her flowers than anything else, had married the second son of a minor noble house for the practical purpose of producing an heir. In less than two years, she was found dead in one of her hot houses during the eighth month of her pregnancy. There were whispers of murder of course, but it was finally put down to over exertion on her part.
On the other end of the spectrum you have the old widowers who are in want of a lass young and comely enough to warm their beds. Some of them have entirely honorable intentions of course, they just wish for company in their old age, someone to converse with or to pass the time. Others are far from respectable.
The last time I was at court for example, the Marquis of Vissarion, with his hawkish features and silver hair, had sidled up to me at a ball and murmured that he would like to "forge his sword in the fire of my auburn hair". I have to admit that I was shocked by his bluntness – by court standards.
Thankfully, I still had my wits about me. "I fear the smith has to raise the steel to the furnace before it can be forged, my lord," I'd said, sipping at my wine. A faint flush crept across his sharp cheekbones and he said something just as nasty as his first lewd comment before turning his back on me.
Perhaps, I may seem cynical. It may be an effect of the onset of old age, I guess. I, however, attribute it to growing older and wiser.
It has been nearly five years since Father took ill. First came the cough, then the sickness of the lungs and the fever. The symptoms come and go, but he's never been wholly healthy since. From the onset of his illness, I have been spending most of my time in Tlanth, shedding my careless ways and flighty manner. That is not to say I've lost all traces of my youthful endeavors, but that I've been tempered by the responsibilities of managing a county, and the duties of future countess and filial daughter. To avoid sounding resentful, it is my belief that I have changed for the better, or so my cousin Alaraec claims through our infrequent exchange of letters and rare reunions.
In any case, returning to Athanarel for a brief sojourn is just the reprieve I need. It has been a year since I last saw my royal cousins. Then, as Father's health had allowed it, we had attended a "Welcome Home" dinner thrown for Alaraec. He had aged as I had, but for the better. I recall with delight the Pirate Princess he had in tow. She would, I believe, prove to be a welcome breath of fresh air in his life.
There I go sounding prophetic, but perhaps that is just an inkling of the subconscious dissatisfaction of my current unwed state. Looking within my own extended family it is not difficult to find love all around me. My cousin Elestra is already happily married with two children of her own and another on the way. Alaraec, while faced with some of my problems – crown-seekers for instance — would surely find happiness in the end. Even studious Oria has no lack of suitors! Beautiful Tara needs no mention in this respect, and she reminds me of myself in my impetuous youth. Her brother Nadav, too, has grown from a handsome youth to a dashing debonair not unlike his father.
As the oldest among them, I teeter upon the edge of being labeled a spinster. While that would be most unfortunate, looking on the bright side, I would be a wise and wealthy spinster – a countess no less! I almost have it all sorted out. Should I remain unwed until my death, then I would bequeath my inheritance and estate to Elestra's daughter, Elaina. Till then, my unfortunate demise, that is, I'll do everything in my power to evade potential marriage cum financial death traps, fortune hunters, and glory seekers. In other words, navigate my way through a minefield blindfolded. After all, you never know which ones are the bad ones until they're trying to weasel their way into your bed or convince you to pay for their next suit of clothes!
Meanwhile, I'll pursue my own interests. Practicing daily on my harp is a top priority, as is reading about far off places. I do envy Elestra for her diplomatic duties, which bring her to places I have only dreamed of visiting. Alas! Duty calls and I have yet to have the opportunity to set foot out of Remalna. Thankfully, Elestra, as a budding playwright who draws inspiration from her travels, has enabled me to live my life of adventure vicariously through her plays.
Speaking of Elestra, I received a letter from her a week ago. She mentioned that she was currently en route to Merindar via Athanarel with the aforementioned Pirate Princess in tow. I wonder why?
Unlike Elestra, who writes generously of her travels and diplomatic assignations to keep me entertained while I'm in Tlanth, Alaraec speaks of more serious matters. Charged with maintaining the border defenses, he warns me to keep an eye out for brigands and raiders, to arm the villagers, and to build up our defenses along the mountain passes. Uncle Vidanric mentions outbreaks of violence against gypsies in the inner regions of Remalna in his letters to my father, and urges us to be wary. I, too, have heard from Oria that tension of some sort seems to be building up within the Dyranarya Academy. It almost seems as if everyone is waiting for something bad to happen; like they almost expect it.
Affairs of state are a conundrum, and as treacherous as a stormy sea. I'm glad that I'm not one of the central players in charge, and do not envy my uncle, aunt, and cousins their parts in the game of politics. What I gather is this: events of an almost calamitous nature are predicted to occur by those in the know.
As I pen these words, a storm is brewing in Athanarel-city at its epicenter—the palace itself.
Aunt Ria has packed the last of my belongings and my precious lap harp into the carriage, and I hear my mother's musical voice calling my name from down the hall. I look out the window and blow a light kiss towards Tlanth and the colorwood forest beyond.
Farewell dear Tlanth, home of my heart; I will survive the scheming vultures of court to see you again.
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A/N: So, what do you think? Thanks to EG for editing it.
I hope to continue with this when I get back but I don't have much of an idea where it'll be headed. Got to think about it over the holidays. Should I even continue with it?
Review!
Regards,
FelSong