"Will you please hold still for another moment, Lady Alanna?"
The petite, hair-greying woman beside me yanks at a lock of my hair, twisting it up into a tight knot and pinning it with a dark clip.
Then another.
And another.
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Grief – that's what the Midwinter Solstice was.
Was? What am I thinking? Today is the Day of the Solstice. Oh Goddess – don't let my syntax give up on me now. Not when I'm about to arrive in the oh-so-special capital city of Tortall in half an hour, and be ready to present myself as yet another y-chromosome hunting female of court.
Gods, I love my life.
Ah-ha! After a bit of reflection, I have come to the conclusion of why Midwinter has become a past tense. I just SO desperately want this day to end, that in my subconscious, December 21st has already passed.
I wish it were only so!
Grr… Don't get me wrong – I love this woman – or rather, I would love her if she didn't have the slight misfortune of being my nurse. That's right – NURSE.
I can't believe this. Truly, for the life of me, I cannot comprehend this situation. I'm a grown woman – all of sixteen years old. I've been held in prison – wait; did I just say that out loud? Cough What I meant to say is, I've been detained at the City of the Gods convent for 5 years, learning to be a lady, and father STILL thinks it appropriate for me to have a nurse!
Talk about the insinuating insult towards my maturity – or in his mind, lack thereof.
But indeed, she is most certainly not the reason I'm frustrated. In fact, compared to what is in store for me for the rest of today, I consider this a positive breeze.
-----
Ouch! Geez woman, you almost pulled the hair right out of my scalp! I may not be particularly fond of red hair – heck, so fond is an overstatement, and I admit, I complain about my hair every time I look in a mirror, but still! As compared to no hair? Give me the former choice any day.
I try to lean back against the back of the carriage, only to have my nurse jerk me back upright.
"Ahh!!" I bit back a yelp of louder volume (I assure you I can get quite loud.) as I imagine myself with half as much hair as I started with. Now is my cue to cringe… I mean, when one is as horridly ugly as I am to begin with – and believe me, words fail to describe my so-called feminine features – you usually hope it doesn't get much worse.
"Lady Alanna! Be patient. Do hold that position for a bit. I'm almost done." She swings around me, pining up the last of my copper locks. Being so occupied, my perfected frown and accompanying growl were wasted on her.
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Right, I recognize the fact that I'm supposed to be grateful to be out of that – that convent. But as thankful as I am, at the moment, life just really, really, really sucks. I mean, REALLY.
I know, I know – you must think I'm a hugely spoiled brat, but I'm not. Really. (Yeah right, like anyone out of that nightmare of a place can possibly be spoiled.) I take what life gives me…Heh, to the least; I'm usually quite friendly - especially when things go my way.
In fact, I think I've been damn agreeable about my imprisonment for the past 5 years. As much as I've longed to throw my box of cosmetics at the First Daughter – I've never done that. All right, so I could have made their lives easier around me – and I will admit that sneaking out at 2 in the morning every week to visit wandering Shangs was a bit much, but really, I could have done much worse.
My mind works in astonishing ways when it comes to thinking of clever pranks. Anything to make those Daughters suffer the way I did.
Speaking of which, I picked up a hell of a lot of things I don't need there – not to mention things I never wanted to learn.
Hated. Loathed.
All right, I will admit this: the Daughters were kind enough to teach me the magic of my Gift. (Of course, that was mostly my own doing, if I say so myself. Existence there was just so unpleasantly bland that I just had to reconcile to my Gift.)
See? I never fail to give praise when it's due. Its just life so often does just the opposite of what you plan.
That 'so often' being NOW, of course. In fact, my Life at the moment is simply a walking – err, riding nightmare – each creak of the wheel bringing me closer to my doom.
Literally. When I say 'doom', I mean 'the end of my life'.
Yeah, it's just that bad. Believe me – I don't exaggerate. Well… I don't think I do…
-----
Okay, okay. I do tend to stretch the truth a bit (that's all the confession you're going to get. So there!), but this time, I swear I'm not embellishing the absolutely seriousness of the situation.
In fact, I can prove it to you – I have this lovely souvenir of a bump on my forehead to show for my unsympathetic day. Why? Goddess, the stupid crowing of the rooster scared the living daylights out of me. After 5 years of gentle knocking on my door, I definitely am NOT used such raucous noises at such unearthly hours! (Score! They say loud noises interfere with a lady's complexion. Ha! What complexion?! Still, that is the only – and I repeat, ONLY thing I will miss about the convent.)
Anyhow, I was shocked awake from my sweet dreams (of which I can remember nothing of now) by a bone-jarring encounter my derriere had with the floor. Not to mention I smacked my head against the deadly edge of my nightstand.
After 16 years, I finally understand the true – and all too literal – meaning of waking up on the wrong side of the bed.
And that was only the morning! 7 o'clock in the morning, to be exact!
-----
The wheels have stopped.
No – I'm NOT going to run, I'm NOT even thinking of such a cowardly action.
All right – fine – maybe for just a second (a teeny, weeny moment). A minute possibly…
Who am I kidding? The freaking thought has been in my head every since I left the convent. To hightail out – or not to hightail out? That is the question.
See, the only problem being to it will take me months to leave Tortall without a horse – and with all Trebond's men, they'll have me back in no time. Zip. Nada. (Mmh – my brainchild is mage extraordinaire in the area of mathematics.)
Of course, if I had gotten caught, there would also be that tiny problem of my father's displeasure. In fact, I'm 100% certain 'sunlight' would never enter my vocabulary again.
Yes, yes – excuses galore. I prefer to call it 'detailed analysis'. Out of everything my pathetic nightmare of a life might be, I'll have you know that I am most certainly not stupid.
So I've definitely ruled out plan A.
Pity – that plan was starting to grow on me.
From everything concerned, it's definitely time to move on to plan B. Ahh… the saving grace of good ol' plan B. Which happens to be…
Damn it.
It conveniently slipped my mind that I don't have a plan B at the moment. (Now I remember – with all the hustling and bustling, when was I supposed to have time to think of a plan anything? – 'Anything' referring to anything plausible, of course. I'll let you know that jumping out the carriage window does not count, thank you very much.)
"Lady Alanna?" The footman opens to door for me, motioning for me to step down – ladylike, of course.
-----
Gods above, now I know what it feels like to be led to execution. THIS. In fact, if I am right on all accounts, this is worse than any torture chamber imaginable.
Hating every second of it already, I lift up my skirts and step out of the carriage. Score again! I did not fall, or trip, or do anything to make me seem like the clumsy beast I really am. Yet.
Now this is strange. 5 years at the convent, and I still go away unable to walk in skirts. Oh this is great. Just great. What a waste of time. When will these people learn that you cannot reform somebody like me?
Especially with my two left feet.
Correction: Two left feet when it comes to skirts. When it has anything to do with lady-like manners. Kicking and punching I can do with skill. Handling a sword – all right, not AS much fluency, but still passable.
Wearing a skirt? Totally OUT of the question.
And you should see me during dance lessons! I shudder to even think of it.
Wait. Oh no… Gods have mercy…
-----
Why didn't I think of this before?
Alanna, I tell myself, you are in court. And HOW does a young, solitary, male-seeking (yeah right! Male seeking my derriere!) female possibly exert herself the first week at court?
Balls! And with such a situation comes dancing. Ball – dancing – ball – dancing. They go hand in hand. All right now, out of all things I will possibly sacrifice for my father's oh-so-high expectations for me, this I refuse to go to. I absolutely will not make a fool of myself in front of Their Royal Majesties of Tortall by going to this… ball.
-----
The time has definitely come for drastic action.
I'll hide! Lock myself up in the deepest, darkest broom closet they have in this – castle, but I WILL NOT – and no amount of persuasion will suffice, nurse – I repeat, WILL NOT, go to any 7-hour long social function, where dancing crosses my lips.
I'll die before I commit such a sin.
-----
Whoa.
Hold that thought right there. I did not just say that, did it? Did I – the utterly indifferent and composed Alanna of Trebond – just say, 'I'll die before I commit such a sin?'
Oh crap. I did.
When – and for the Goddess, WHY – have I become such a drama queen? I sound – pathetic… I sound… like a lady. (That is not to say I'm not female. Got it? I'm not a lady. There is a world of difference.)
Note to self: Definitely cut back on the dramatic whining. From all I have gathered in my wise and experienced past, whining does not get you what you want. Don't listen to whatever else they might tell you. Trust me on this one – I've tried.
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Of course, I'm never done the all-so-popular 'feminist-fatale' approach. Drop the handkerchief (or even better, to quote the First Daughter, 'toss the fan you were fluttering high into the air') – let out a loooong wail, and bring the courtiers and handsome knight running to your rescue.
The tears? They're fake. (Added for all purposes as a species of feminine decoration.)
That's what the Daughters taught us at the convent. I can't believe it. My father actually pays for people to teach ME how to pick up 'gentlemanly suitors'. HA!! Gentlemanly suitors! There's nothing gentle, or suiting about them. Come to think of it, there's probably nothing manly about them, either.
In fact, THEY are the reason MY life is in complete and utter ruins. THEY are why I'M currently standing HERE, instead of welding a sword, HERE, in front of this… this...
Palace.
This gorgeous, dazzling, breath-taking, white-marbled, mammoth of a palace.
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A/N: Hmm – writing in first person definitely takes longer than I had thought. Lolz. How did I do? ][Nervous][ Comments and reviews much appreciated and desired! :)