Chapter One: Running
Delia of Eldorne sat on the swing in the abandoned play court, watching through the windows of her house the party for her sister Delilah's eighteenth birthday. She looked stunning, with her golden locks piled on her head and her blue eyes sparkling…
How Delia wished she could look like that—tall and willowy, blue-eyed and blond. Like Mommy. Both of them could wear rags and sleep in ashes and still look beautiful. Her older brother, fourteen-year-old Squire Lamont, took after both of his parents. He had large, sincere turquoise-green eyes and honey brown hair. He had a cleft in his chin and a strong, square jaw.
The youngest Eldorne took after the three children's father. Her thin, lank brown hair lay limp on her skeletal shoulders. The forest green dress she wore did not accentuate her small green eyes like it was supposed to; instead it hugged her bulky stomach and just showed the world how fat she really was. Unlike Delilah, her pale skin made her look sickly. Her nose disappeared between her freckled, bloated cheeks.
A tear streaked down Delia's cheek as she watched through a window Delilah dancing with her betrothed, Sir Chester of Dusty Ridge, looking up at him with love written in every perfectly sculpted feature—
Even Lamont, aloof as he was, was dancing with a young lady about his age, holding her close to him and resting his chin on her dark brown hair—
"I hate you," Delia choked, wiping another tear off her face. "I hate every last one of you!"
~*~
A couple days later at breakfast Lord Jethrin announced to his daughter that tomorrow a carriage would come by to pick her up and take her to a convent. Delilah smirked.
"I don't see why you should bother," she said smugly. "Nothing they do will turn that creature into a lady."
"Shut up, you old hag," Lamont snapped. "The only reason you look like you do now is because of a convent. Mithros only knows what you'd look like if you were never sent there!"
"Lamont, don't you ever speak to your sister that way!" Lady Fiona snapped.
"Stop defending her," Jethrin snarled. "Lamont is absolutely right!"
"Daddy," Delilah said, eyes tearing up. "How could you?"
Lamont childishly stuck his tongue out at her, therefore starting another argument. This one Delia quietly escaped by exiting and hurrying up to her room.
A convent. Delia threw herself on her bed and pouted. She should have seen it coming. What she really wanted to do—though she knew her parents would never let her—was become a knight. Not a lady. She remembered that some time last year she had told Lamont that. Instead of laughing, like she expected he would, he had actually thought about it.
To her surprise he had said, "I'll be a knight when you become a squire…that means you can be my squire!"
Delia smiled faintly. Lamont…her only true friend. He defended her from bullies, mostly the pretty children of dukes or barons or other lords, and most of all, defended her from Delilah.
She lived in constant fear; fear that Lamont would be killed. If that happened, then she would have no one. Even the thought sent cold knives into her heart.
I don't want to become a lady, Delia decided suddenly. I guess that means I'll have to run away.
She already knew talking to her parents was useless. The only way she could change their mind if she asked Lamont, Daddy's favorite, to do it. But even if he would there was no way she could get Delilah, Mommy's favorite, to do it, and since Daddy listened to everything Mommy said (except when it came to the only son) that was out of the question.
With renewed purpose Delia grabbed two or three dresses and stuffed them in a suitcase that Del had long ago. She slipped on her slippers and sat on her bed. Now that she was packed it seemed a little scary.
And besides, I need food.
From downstairs she heard Delilah screaming and heard a vase crash. Never mind…the kitchen is past that room and I don't want to be seen…and since the servants don't like me I can't bribe them…
Delia decided to just go ahead and run. After all she had money—the bulging purse in her suitcase confirmed that—she could just buy some at an inn or something.
So Delia, coward as she was, picked up her suitcase, went down the stairs and out the door, unseen.
Unknown to her, she had chosen the path that would, eventually, lead her toward her death.
