Chapter Four: Chella
She was supposed to have been the only one!
Even two months later while packing for the Sweet Sea, she still seized in anger while ruminating upon it. He had promised, he had promised that she would be the only one with the Lorvais Lavender, but once she stepped into the garden party, it was to see another in the hand of Lady Dilathea Pennetin. One in the hand of Princess Snow would have been fine. That only glorified Chella's possession, to have what the crown princess had. One in the hand of Silly Dilly? It cheapened what made Chella so proud, returned her to just another lady when she was Getty now.
If someone had gasped that a giant was coming, Dilly would have looked down. If someone had gasped that a dwarf was coming, Dilly would have looked up. If Robert gave her ten apples and took away three, she could not answer how many she had left. She could answer if Robert was handsome. When Chella thought about the internal topography of Dilly's mind, she imagined a stark desert scene with the occasional tumbleweed blowing through. Her family was of little note, shared little royal blood and held little holdings. For them to share kerchiefs at this grand event! All through the party, Chella steamed like a kettle. It was an injustice the likes of which the world had never seen.
Oh, there were wars and pillages and floods and other misfortunes. She knew that. This was only an atrocity of the personal sort, which she remembered later once that kerchief in Dilly's hand was no longer in her line of sight. Chella was not so self-centered as to think that two girls sharing the same kerchiefs was the equivalent of a war. But wars were things of schoolbooks, and the crime of the kerchiefs was the breath and pulse and blood of her life.
Mother had also been outraged, and sent an angry letter to Orrs Lorvais himself! He should know of the treachery perpetrated by his own son James. Since the postman rode away with the letter, Chella imagined James cast out by his family in shame. His handsome face downcast, his silver tongue quieted, his quick hands shoved into his pockets to finger his only coin . . . yes, that was fitting. He had humiliated her. At last, at last she was moving up in this world, and he had kicked her back to where she started.
She was Getty. That meant she received a cut above what was given to everyone else. A cut below what was given to the royal circle, naturally, this she understood and did not resent. She was only a bastard daughter, after all, not trueborn. But she should not be treated on par with Dilly any longer. She was Lady Richella Light Tenzing, granddaughter of Earl Tenzing of Hearst, daughter of Prince Stuart of the Astors and Lady Regan Tenzing of Hearst, and most of all, Getty of the Easthold!
Of that last title she was desperately proud. Scorrus had pushed King Leopold to grant this to her, since she did so well at her studies. In truth she did not, but she studied a little harder after that for a few days. It was a great honor for a bastard child to be given one of the Holds of the Ryme. She knew little of the East at the time of the offer, having grown up just south of the palace itself in Hearst. The East had always seemed wild, a place of pirates and riff-raff, with its only place of note being the Sweet Sea. And that was hardly in the true east! Neither was the East Tower. The land grew wilder the further one went to the ocean, so one simply did not go.
But she could not turn down a Hold. Scorrus sweetly tempered her fears of governing; she was not to grow one furrow in her brow over it or he would be quite distressed. The Council of the East Tower handled a large share of the work. But these were old men like himself, he said, old men who knew their jobs but brought no grace to it. The people of the South had Princess Zara as their figurehead, and what they needed from her was not grace but strength. The people of the West needed the very opposite of grace, and the old man's eyes twinkled as Chella looked aghast and then giggled at this slur upon Prince Carlisle. But how clever was this appointment! The people of the West respected a man who would sit down at their taverns and drink ale with them, appearing to be one of them in all but blood. That was Prince Carlisle, who could make himself look at home in their company. The people loved him greatly for it.
Now of the North, Scorrus said, and that quieted Chella's giggles. Her hexed father held the Northold, although in truth his Council bore the work. The people of the North were quiet and private. You could know a northernman for fifty years and never learn his last name. This was perfect for Prince Stuart. What his problems were the people of the North did not consider their business.
And the East needed grace. Its people were not all riff-raff and pirates. They were good farming folk and shopkeepers and industry workers, most of them, and it was not right for them to have only a Council of surly old men for a figurehead. They needed grace and beauty and intelligence, someone to represent them as an equal part of the kingdom. Scorrus had gone over and over the possible appointments to the Easthold. Princess Monica was a girl of the West through and through. Princes Beau and Timon were too young. Lady Artemi had been a strong candidate, yet . . . yet her grace and intelligence were not matched by beauty. Lord Castor had been another candidate, yet . . . yet his grace and beauty were not matched by intelligence. It pained Scorrus to say this of them, for he was a kindly old man. The Easthold deserved all three, and Lady Richella Light Tenzing had them. She could be the pretty face at the races in the Royals' Box, the intelligent voice reading the King's Proclamations on the occasions that they came forth, the graceful form on the dance floor with the men and women of monetary consequence in the East.
Getty Richella, on par with High Guard Zara, Mounsen Carlisle, and Quyn Stuart. Only in this position were they equal, but to be equal with them at all! In any capacity! Mother had been dizzy at the offer. It did not cross their minds to say no, for how could they? A starving man did not turn down a fish. Hearst was so tiny that it did not even show on some maps of the Ryme. Mother had gotten herself a daughter by the Prince, which moved her up in affairs of society, and now that daughter would be Getty!
Chella was the grace and the beauty and the intelligence, the little that she had to do for her role. Her apartments in the East Tower were stunning, and she could look out her windows in every direction for miles and miles. Even from that height, she could not see the ocean to the east. The tower once had been much deeper in the east, and pirates torched it. So now it was only lightly in the east, like the Sweet Sea.
The Council only allowed her to travel certain roads that they could ensure were safe, and they were right around the Tower. Those were grand roads with grand shops, and when she had to swing off those roads for some reason, she knew to close the shades. She had lived in the East for a year now, yet seen very little of it. As she was not inclined to curiosity, it troubled her not at all.
But she missed her friends, even Silly-Dilly at times. She wished that she could show them these grand shops, this beautiful Tower in which she ruled. To come back for the birthday party of Princess Snow as Getty had been a long-anticipated event, and Chella was determined to do it in style. To amaze these friends who outranked her all through childhood! The Council gave her an enormous budget for clothes and necessities. Every stitch had been an agony in its selection, and everything ruined over a kerchief. Oh, but not all ruined. Noble boys who had hardly looked her way before now lingered in consideration.
The Council gave her another enormous budget for her jaunt to the Sweet Sea. It was only a weeklong trip, yet she was allowed to spend whatever she wanted on fancies. She filled two entire trunks and had them hoisted on her carriage, and then she sat in her apartment window and waited for the caravan. This one would bear only the girls; the boys had a caravan of their own. It would be grand fun at the island, no parents, only chaperones and guards.
The servants had strict orders for when the royal carriage and the caravan turned down the drive to the South Tower. To line up sharp outside the doors, with glasses of lemonade and trays of yupsi truffles! To offer the chamber room should anyone need to relieve themselves, and the reclining room should the princess be weary of traveling. To play music and offer each one a Ve-ve rose corsage, with the princess getting the grandest, Chella and Princess Monica the second grandest, and everyone else the least grand.
She did not recognize the caravan when one first appeared on the road below, since it did not have the dazzling royal carriage in the lead. But the horses stepped so sharply, the guards so great in number, and ever did this caravan close in on the Tower so she thought it might be the girls indeed. And the idiot she felt then! On some roads, it was not wise to advertise the presence of a royal. So this was a very fine carriage indeed, but not one that announced the identity of its inhabitant. People would assume the caravan was full of rich traders. Now it would look like rich traders and the Getty, which was a common sight anyway going to horse races and balls. Chella flew downstairs to warn the servants that the caravan was arriving.
It went perfectly, and she was proud. The princess did not need to rest, as the trip had gone without the slightest mishap. After visits to the chamber and sweet treats enjoyed, the corsages put on, Princess Snow beckoned Chella to ride along in her carriage for the last leg of the journey! Chella graciously offered her own to the lower-ranking girls, somewhat crammed in the other six carriages of the caravan. The girls divvied up the newly available seats, four climbing in and everyone pleased to have extra foot room.
Chella got into the first carriage with her heart pounding from joy. The driver cracked his whip and they slid along the Tower drive to the road. It was only a three-hour journey to the pier, and Chella the last pick-up along the way. Lady Artemi and Princess Monica were within this carriage as well, which was big enough for six, and both of them were laughing about girls in other carriages until Princess Snow chided, "That is most unkind!" and they quieted.
"Pray tell of these enchantments," Chella said to change the subject. She knew that cattiness was not a trait that Snow enjoyed. Nor in truth did Chella, since she had too often been the butt of it. But not any longer!
"Oh, it will be grand fun," Snow said, with a grateful look since this topic did not concern rudeness. A guard upon a horse tapped the window, and the girls lowered the shades. Outside, they could hear the taps on the windows of the other carriages. The road that had brought the caravan up from the south was well guarded in almost every place; the one carrying them from here to the Sweet Sea had some minor rough spots.
Once the last shade was down, Snow continued. "Hidden in the sand is a chest of d'bei wands! We can follow clues to track it down like pirates if we wish, or swim out to rocks and listen to the mermaids sing. My father says there is a magic waterfall on the island that transforms your appearance entirely. Trees that grow candy, how I want to visit those! There are actual fairy homes in gardens-"
"Tell her what will be most fun! The Red fairies, not the Green," Princess Monica interrupted. "They have only little hexes and their effects will not last for long-"
"Monica!" Snow chastised. "You and I have never gotten to know our Uncle Stuart, nor has Chella with him as her father. I am not going to hex anyone even in jest. The truth of it is not remotely amusing."
"Well, but I shall," said Monica, unperturbed. Chella would not. No one even knew the manner of her father's hex, but every effort to mitigate it had failed in the seventeen years since her birth. The day she entered the world, Prince Stuart's mind left it. Chella returned the topic to friendlier enchantments, and they rode on. In time Monica brought up boys and who had caught her fancy at the garden party. Lord Leroy won nearly every strength contest and she was going to see if she could get a love potion from a Red on the island. It would not last long, but she just needed long enough to entrance him! The other girls looked away.
The carriage stopped sharply, and the driver cracked his whip. "Move!" Yet the carriage did not move, not after he yelled this twice more. A boy was crying out in reply, although his words were indiscernible. Guards rode past the carriage, and Chella was utterly embarrassed that the first mishap of this journey was happening in the East.
She lifted the curtain to see what was the matter. A grim sight met her eyes. This was not a pretty road like the ones on which she shopped. Gray buildings sagged against one another, and men in rough and dirty clothing were sitting upon the curb. One was drinking from a mug, and the liquid to spill down his chin did not look like water. A woman was cuffing a small child, her uncombed hair wild about her head and the child's hair even wilder.
"Stop blocking the road!" the driver shouted. "Guards, remove him!"
"Is that boy hurt?" the princess asked in concern. "It sounds like he is in pain."
Girls in another carriage began to scream. Alarmed, Chella turned around to lift the shade behind her head. Ragged, filthy men were fighting the guards to keep them away, swords clashing as the girls were being dragged from the carriage of the Getty! The princess gasped to see Dilly have her chin lifted for inspection, and then she was knocked to the ground so that the man could look at another girl.
Chella wanted to die. This was just like the kerchief, an embarrassment and worse since she ruled here and for this to happen before the princess! Everything was being ruined! Opening the carriage door in a temper, she stepped out and screamed at the men, "What are you doing? I am your Getty and you will unhand those girls at once!"
"Getty, get back in the-"
A sack was pulled over her head and she was jerked from her feet. She screamed, the fabric foul and filthy against her lips. Thrown on her stomach over a horse, something pinned down her back to hold her there. Then the horse began to run, and she fainted.
