Fight Like A Girl
Chapter 5
An Hour's Conversation
From the moment I stepped into the hallway on my first day on my way to becoming Helen of Troy, on my first day without David, the other girls were shocked. My transformation was complete. I went from a tomboyish young girl with no manners and a wretched habit of laughing at inopportune times to a sweet, charming young lady with impeccable manners. I had perfected the polite titter of laughter, had acquired an engaging manner of speaking about boring things, and a way of shaming others with a lift of my eyebrow. I felt well equipped to begin my transition from Delia, David's strange friend, to Delia, the next Helen of Troy.
The most powerful girls in the convent were without a doubt Cybil and Ophelia. They were both beautiful, from good families, and had the rest of the convent at their beck and call. They need only mention that their throats were a touch dry and a dozen girls were tripping over themselves for the honor of fetching a drink of water. Well-bred young ladies were willingly reduced to servants. That was truly power. That was what I wanted.
They were considered fast friends, but I knew better. I saw the envious gleam that entered Ophelia's eyes when Cybil laughed in that manner she had that showed off her jewelry, saw that momentary crack in her ever present smile when Cybil paraded about in a new dress. For the truth was that Ophelia's family of Elsinore, while of impeccable breeding and respected name, was becoming steadily poorer. There are some girls whose inherent nobility can survive a fall to poverty, but Ophelia was not one of those. Her self-worth was wrapped up in clothes and jewels, and without those things she was simply another girl with a middling pretty face. The Elsinores had thus far kept their impending indigence a secret. I only knew of it because David's family were close relations to those of Elsinore, and had lent them a good deal of money - a matter which David, of course, was meant to be ignorant of, but had discovered anyways, as he was wont to do. It was, however, a secret that could not be kept forever, no matter how much they denied their serfs to clothe Ophelia and the other girls in a manner befitting their station. Ophelia knew down to the last copper what she was worth, and as that number got lower her distress became more evident to my attentive eyes. She was desperate to prove her worth, her nobility, and this caused her to snap at girls of families that were not so well respected. She had grown fond of pompous speeches about how any tradesmen can make a couple gold nobles, but that doesn't make them actually noble. Her bloodline could be traced back, unbroken, unsullied, even farther than that of the Contes themselves. Her obsession with impeccable breeding slighted other girls, and although very few spoke out - no one would dare challenge one as powerful as she in this microcosm of the Court - I was of the opinion that there were very few who would jump to her defense if she should fall from grace. She was primed for a fall, and oh but I was ready for it too.
When I had discussed my plan to usurp Ophelia's place in the Cloisters, to perhaps precipitate that fall if I could, David had been uneasy.
"How would you make her fall, Delia?" he'd asked.
"Oh, I suppose I'd have to find out her secrets. More of them, at any rate. Her family's poverty isn't so much of a secret as it once was, and I doubt that it will be secret at all once I'm ready to make my move. And anyways, I don't believe that would dislodge her quickly enough, cleanly enough. She's been preparing for it - when it comes out she'll just go on about breeding being superior to money. No, I need something better."
"And how would you find this better secret?"
"I.well, I suppose I'd get her to tell me, wouldn't I?" I had answered, wondering at the odd tone in his voice.
"And you'll just overhear as she talks in her sleep, will you?" he'd asked, his voice tinged with sarcasm.
"No, of course not. David, I'm not an idiot," I had laughed. "I'd get her to tell me."
"But to get her to confide secrets in you.you'd have to make friends with her."
"Yes, I would. Ugh, it sounds wretched doesn't it? Friends with that witch?" I made a face.
"And then you'll betray her," he'd said, more of a statement than a question.
"Yes, and take her place. Well, I never said it'd be pleasant, but it has to be done, David."
"But Delia.to exploit her friendship, her secrets.it seems so cruel."
"The road to power is cruel, David!" I had declared, drawing myself up, filled with self-righteousness. "You said yourself that powerful spells can wreak havoc on nature, that every bit of power you use has consequences elsewhere. Well, when you're a powerful mage, you'll have to learn to use those spells in spite of the consequences! It's brutal, and it's cruel, but you'll have to cast spells when you know that doing so will have horrendous consequences somewhere else, will hurt someone else. A king, in order to rule, must be brutal. He kills those who conspire against him, or he loses his power. If getting power were easy, then everyone would have it. To be strong, you must be brutal. You must prove yourself worthy of power!"
David had fallen silent at this. "Maybe," he said. "Power, like all things, must have a price. But, Delia, could you be that brutal?"
"I'll do what I have to for power!" I had insisted.
"But you're not brutal! I'm not either! Mages have it easy - we don't have to see the damage we do most of the time. Could you make a friend, get her trust you, and then betray her like that?"
"I'd.I'd have to get used to it is all. It might take awhile, but I'll make myself do it. I have to."
"Then.could you ever betray me like that?" His eyes had been overlarge with uncertainty, and I thought he was biting the inside of his mouth like he does when he's anxious.
"No! No, David, never! I'd never betray you, not ever. I'll make myself be brutal because I have to, and I'll make myself betray others since I have to, but I would never betray you, not for anything. You're the best person I've ever known. Ophelia - she's a snake, David, and you know it. Don't you remember how she picked on poor little Elline last year? And for no reason! She was so miserable she became a priestess, just retired from public life. Surely a girl who destroys other people like that isn't worth sympathy, isn't on the same level as you are. I'll make myself act like a cruel traitor towards witches like Ophelia, but that's not who I am; I'd never betray you, David, my real, true friend. Once I have power, I won't have to act that way any more, I can be myself again, and we'll be together again, the truest friends in Tortall - no, in all the world!"
I had spoken so earnestly that I almost cried, and David grinned and told me I was acting like a wimp of a girl, and we had gone on to a different topic. That conversation haunted me now that I was going to begin my brutal ascent to power. I had vowed that I would do brutal things, would act a traitor, and now it would begin.
I knew where I was going, what I was going to do. I put on my most flattering smile, and waltzed over to the corner of the sitting room reserved for Ophelia and Cybil. I sat by Ophelia's feet, and picked up the threads of conversation that had been dropped along with the collective jaws of the girls when I'd entered, radically changed as I was.
A few wanted to ask impertinent questions, but lost their nerve when faced with my utter dexterity in manipulating the conversation. They knew when they were up against a master, and I have always been a master of conversation. One girl, Blaise of Netfeld, ventured a scathing comment thinly veiled with a compliment, "My, Delia, I am so pleased to enjoy your company. We have seen so little of you before today! You can no doubt educate us on so much - the handling of snakes and mice, the precise art of spitting? These are the pastimes you seem to have engaged yourself in these past years, you and your friend.David, was it?"
I was prepared for this, and had an answer more or less prepared, although I could not have imagined the good fortune of having one such as Blaise as my attacker. I smiled and prepared to fight back. There are those who would say that I am as quick with my tongue as the Lioness ever was with a sword.
"Surely you will not deny me the carefree pleasures of youth? I should hate to have been one of those stuffy children with no propensity for fun. I find that such children often grow to be rather bland adults, boring everyone they engage in conversation, till no one wants to engage them at all! I should hate to be so blasé, Blaise. Far more interesting are those with an inherent sense of wit and interesting conversation who are often prone to somewhat madcap childhoods but infallibly grow into vivacious and captivating adults. I hope to count myself in the latter category.but you are free to embrace the former with as much vehemence as you see fit," I said with a laugh and toss of my hair.
The others laughed with me, and Blaise flushed angrily. To be a bore was perhaps the worst sentence that could be passed on a girl new to the courtly world and of modest fortune. Blaise was one of these, and much of her family's standing depended upon her popularity at Court. A rich or well- connected girl could afford to be boring, but not one of Blaise's precarious standing. What's more, in connecting the name Blaise with blasé, pointing out the manner in which they complimented each other, I had subtly suggested a nickname that could haunt her for the rest of her days. Why should anyone want to talk to Blasé Blaise? What hope had such a bore of marrying above her? I had even hinted to such a bleak outcome - who should want to engage her indeed, in conversation or marriage? It was the most subtle of threats, but I felt confident that she understood. She did not reply, but rather glared at her needlework, every line of her body hunched in angry defeat.
Ophelia placed an approving hand on my shoulder and Cybil said, "I doubt anyone could ever describe you as blasé, Delia. You are an utter delight."
With such a commendation, my place in the hierarchy was as concrete as an hour's conversation could make it. I have made many mistakes in my life, and you can say what you like of treason and such, but surely everyone must admit that that hour's conversation was skillfully done?
Chapter 5
An Hour's Conversation
From the moment I stepped into the hallway on my first day on my way to becoming Helen of Troy, on my first day without David, the other girls were shocked. My transformation was complete. I went from a tomboyish young girl with no manners and a wretched habit of laughing at inopportune times to a sweet, charming young lady with impeccable manners. I had perfected the polite titter of laughter, had acquired an engaging manner of speaking about boring things, and a way of shaming others with a lift of my eyebrow. I felt well equipped to begin my transition from Delia, David's strange friend, to Delia, the next Helen of Troy.
The most powerful girls in the convent were without a doubt Cybil and Ophelia. They were both beautiful, from good families, and had the rest of the convent at their beck and call. They need only mention that their throats were a touch dry and a dozen girls were tripping over themselves for the honor of fetching a drink of water. Well-bred young ladies were willingly reduced to servants. That was truly power. That was what I wanted.
They were considered fast friends, but I knew better. I saw the envious gleam that entered Ophelia's eyes when Cybil laughed in that manner she had that showed off her jewelry, saw that momentary crack in her ever present smile when Cybil paraded about in a new dress. For the truth was that Ophelia's family of Elsinore, while of impeccable breeding and respected name, was becoming steadily poorer. There are some girls whose inherent nobility can survive a fall to poverty, but Ophelia was not one of those. Her self-worth was wrapped up in clothes and jewels, and without those things she was simply another girl with a middling pretty face. The Elsinores had thus far kept their impending indigence a secret. I only knew of it because David's family were close relations to those of Elsinore, and had lent them a good deal of money - a matter which David, of course, was meant to be ignorant of, but had discovered anyways, as he was wont to do. It was, however, a secret that could not be kept forever, no matter how much they denied their serfs to clothe Ophelia and the other girls in a manner befitting their station. Ophelia knew down to the last copper what she was worth, and as that number got lower her distress became more evident to my attentive eyes. She was desperate to prove her worth, her nobility, and this caused her to snap at girls of families that were not so well respected. She had grown fond of pompous speeches about how any tradesmen can make a couple gold nobles, but that doesn't make them actually noble. Her bloodline could be traced back, unbroken, unsullied, even farther than that of the Contes themselves. Her obsession with impeccable breeding slighted other girls, and although very few spoke out - no one would dare challenge one as powerful as she in this microcosm of the Court - I was of the opinion that there were very few who would jump to her defense if she should fall from grace. She was primed for a fall, and oh but I was ready for it too.
When I had discussed my plan to usurp Ophelia's place in the Cloisters, to perhaps precipitate that fall if I could, David had been uneasy.
"How would you make her fall, Delia?" he'd asked.
"Oh, I suppose I'd have to find out her secrets. More of them, at any rate. Her family's poverty isn't so much of a secret as it once was, and I doubt that it will be secret at all once I'm ready to make my move. And anyways, I don't believe that would dislodge her quickly enough, cleanly enough. She's been preparing for it - when it comes out she'll just go on about breeding being superior to money. No, I need something better."
"And how would you find this better secret?"
"I.well, I suppose I'd get her to tell me, wouldn't I?" I had answered, wondering at the odd tone in his voice.
"And you'll just overhear as she talks in her sleep, will you?" he'd asked, his voice tinged with sarcasm.
"No, of course not. David, I'm not an idiot," I had laughed. "I'd get her to tell me."
"But to get her to confide secrets in you.you'd have to make friends with her."
"Yes, I would. Ugh, it sounds wretched doesn't it? Friends with that witch?" I made a face.
"And then you'll betray her," he'd said, more of a statement than a question.
"Yes, and take her place. Well, I never said it'd be pleasant, but it has to be done, David."
"But Delia.to exploit her friendship, her secrets.it seems so cruel."
"The road to power is cruel, David!" I had declared, drawing myself up, filled with self-righteousness. "You said yourself that powerful spells can wreak havoc on nature, that every bit of power you use has consequences elsewhere. Well, when you're a powerful mage, you'll have to learn to use those spells in spite of the consequences! It's brutal, and it's cruel, but you'll have to cast spells when you know that doing so will have horrendous consequences somewhere else, will hurt someone else. A king, in order to rule, must be brutal. He kills those who conspire against him, or he loses his power. If getting power were easy, then everyone would have it. To be strong, you must be brutal. You must prove yourself worthy of power!"
David had fallen silent at this. "Maybe," he said. "Power, like all things, must have a price. But, Delia, could you be that brutal?"
"I'll do what I have to for power!" I had insisted.
"But you're not brutal! I'm not either! Mages have it easy - we don't have to see the damage we do most of the time. Could you make a friend, get her trust you, and then betray her like that?"
"I'd.I'd have to get used to it is all. It might take awhile, but I'll make myself do it. I have to."
"Then.could you ever betray me like that?" His eyes had been overlarge with uncertainty, and I thought he was biting the inside of his mouth like he does when he's anxious.
"No! No, David, never! I'd never betray you, not ever. I'll make myself be brutal because I have to, and I'll make myself betray others since I have to, but I would never betray you, not for anything. You're the best person I've ever known. Ophelia - she's a snake, David, and you know it. Don't you remember how she picked on poor little Elline last year? And for no reason! She was so miserable she became a priestess, just retired from public life. Surely a girl who destroys other people like that isn't worth sympathy, isn't on the same level as you are. I'll make myself act like a cruel traitor towards witches like Ophelia, but that's not who I am; I'd never betray you, David, my real, true friend. Once I have power, I won't have to act that way any more, I can be myself again, and we'll be together again, the truest friends in Tortall - no, in all the world!"
I had spoken so earnestly that I almost cried, and David grinned and told me I was acting like a wimp of a girl, and we had gone on to a different topic. That conversation haunted me now that I was going to begin my brutal ascent to power. I had vowed that I would do brutal things, would act a traitor, and now it would begin.
I knew where I was going, what I was going to do. I put on my most flattering smile, and waltzed over to the corner of the sitting room reserved for Ophelia and Cybil. I sat by Ophelia's feet, and picked up the threads of conversation that had been dropped along with the collective jaws of the girls when I'd entered, radically changed as I was.
A few wanted to ask impertinent questions, but lost their nerve when faced with my utter dexterity in manipulating the conversation. They knew when they were up against a master, and I have always been a master of conversation. One girl, Blaise of Netfeld, ventured a scathing comment thinly veiled with a compliment, "My, Delia, I am so pleased to enjoy your company. We have seen so little of you before today! You can no doubt educate us on so much - the handling of snakes and mice, the precise art of spitting? These are the pastimes you seem to have engaged yourself in these past years, you and your friend.David, was it?"
I was prepared for this, and had an answer more or less prepared, although I could not have imagined the good fortune of having one such as Blaise as my attacker. I smiled and prepared to fight back. There are those who would say that I am as quick with my tongue as the Lioness ever was with a sword.
"Surely you will not deny me the carefree pleasures of youth? I should hate to have been one of those stuffy children with no propensity for fun. I find that such children often grow to be rather bland adults, boring everyone they engage in conversation, till no one wants to engage them at all! I should hate to be so blasé, Blaise. Far more interesting are those with an inherent sense of wit and interesting conversation who are often prone to somewhat madcap childhoods but infallibly grow into vivacious and captivating adults. I hope to count myself in the latter category.but you are free to embrace the former with as much vehemence as you see fit," I said with a laugh and toss of my hair.
The others laughed with me, and Blaise flushed angrily. To be a bore was perhaps the worst sentence that could be passed on a girl new to the courtly world and of modest fortune. Blaise was one of these, and much of her family's standing depended upon her popularity at Court. A rich or well- connected girl could afford to be boring, but not one of Blaise's precarious standing. What's more, in connecting the name Blaise with blasé, pointing out the manner in which they complimented each other, I had subtly suggested a nickname that could haunt her for the rest of her days. Why should anyone want to talk to Blasé Blaise? What hope had such a bore of marrying above her? I had even hinted to such a bleak outcome - who should want to engage her indeed, in conversation or marriage? It was the most subtle of threats, but I felt confident that she understood. She did not reply, but rather glared at her needlework, every line of her body hunched in angry defeat.
Ophelia placed an approving hand on my shoulder and Cybil said, "I doubt anyone could ever describe you as blasé, Delia. You are an utter delight."
With such a commendation, my place in the hierarchy was as concrete as an hour's conversation could make it. I have made many mistakes in my life, and you can say what you like of treason and such, but surely everyone must admit that that hour's conversation was skillfully done?