Chapter Four: Coming of Age, part one
The rest of the evening was like a dream to Vivenne; when she went to bed that evening, she could only lie awake, reliving her first kiss and the gentleness in Wyldon's touch. She was not like her older sisters; Solanne could think of Tortallans as only slaughterers, while Margarethe saw any new man as someone to flirt and play with, be him Tortallan or Tusaine. But Vivenne could not think of Wyldon as someone to merely flirt with, nor could she think of him as a murderer, even knowing that he was a knight who fought in the war. He was likely responsible for many Tusaine deaths, in fact.
Still, even that could not change the fact that she liked him, and could not keep his kiss out of her mind as she fell asleep. In the morning she was wakened by Idranna leaping upon her bed. "Happy birthday, Vivi!" the young girl cried, showering kisses upon her face.
Vivenne sat up groggily, hugging Idranna. "Good morning, little one," she said, dropping a kiss on her sister's head. "Could you not let me sleep in just a bit on my birthday? I turn seventeen only once in my life, you know."
Idranna snuggled up against her. "I did let you sleep in. It's almost nine o'clock – Lady Eiralys was going to wake you, but Solanne stopped her. She said you weren't feeling well."
Vivenne laughed. Solanne lying in order to give her an extra hour or two of sleep? It had to be her birthday.
"You must get off of me," she said, with a gentle shove. "I have to wash up and clean my teeth so I am not wretched and filthy when I get the rest of my birthday kisses." She colored slightly at the thought of more kisses and who might be giving them.
When she was finally presentable, she and Idranna trekked down to the kitchens to forage for a late breakfast. Her mother was there, discussing the evening's feast with the cooking staff.
"How are you feeling, my dear?" Lady Eiralys asked, crossing the room to embrace her daughter. "Solanne was worried about you."
"I'm fine now, Mother," Vivenne said. "I just needed rest."
"You look pale," her mother sad, brushing Vivenne's dark hair back from her face. "Happy birthday. This might be your most exciting one, with so many guests here – not to mention the king. More guests will be coming throughout the day." She wrinkled her nose, finally noticing Vivenne's plain frock. "I do hope you plan on changing into an appropriate afternoon dress. Tonight you must wear your gold gown."
"Yes, mother," Vivenne said, escaping her grasp in order to grab a muffin. "I'll go up and change right now," she said, her mouth full.
Lady Eiralys frowned, then turned back to the head cook in order to discuss the appetizers.
"I wish I could stay up dancing tonight," Idranna sighed as they climbed the stairs. "By the time I have my first ball, you'll be married and I'll have no one to help me choose my gown."
"Don't be silly!" Vivenne chided. "Even if I'm married with dozens of children I'll travel back here to help you choose your gown and fix your hair."
"Promise?" Idranna asked, blue eyes excited.
"I promise."
***
Lady Eiralys had not been exaggerating when she said more guests would come throughout the day. The Tusaine men involved in the delegation had trickled in slowly over the previous days, but today they seemed to flood the castle, along with the ladies from every noble family in the vicinity. Entertainment had respectfully stopped during the months of the war, so this would be the first party – and with the king in attendance, as well as a foreign prince, it would certainly be popular.
Vivenne spent most of the morning and early afternoon with her brother, first playing chess in the salon and later galloping through the forest together, racing at breakneck speed through the riding paths and jumping every creek and ravine.
"Lord Nikol of Maderen is going to attend the ball tonight," Elin said as they brushed down their mounts. "Father stopped complaining about the Tortallans long enough to suggest a marriage alliance with Maderen."
"Solanne can have him, then," Vivenne sighed. Lord Nikol was a pleasant enough man to spend short periods of time with – he was barely thirty, with handsome features and a sprawling estate. He had one wife, and could easily support another. Vivenne could understand why he would be a desirable mate to someone who did not know him well. He was attractive, wealthy and had been very valiant in the war; but Vivenne had known him since she was a child, and found his arrogance and short temper alarming.
Elin leaned over the door of his mare's stall, cushioning his chin on crossed arms. "I don't think Lord Nikol would be happy with Solanne," he said. "Between you and me, I think Father's going to draw up a marriage contract with him soon. For you."
"For me," she said, her throat suddenly feeling dry. "But I – I shouldn't be married before Solanne."
Elin raised his eyebrows. "Don't you mean to say that you're not attracted to him?"
"Well, there is that," Vivenne replied, shrugging. "But we don't know if Lord Nikol is even interested in marriage right now. Or if he's interested in any of us. I shouldn't panic until I know there is something to worry over."
"Margarethe says you're in love with a knight from Tortall," Elin said, lowering his voice.
"I haven't had a chance to fall in love with any of the Tortallans," she said, avoiding his gaze. "I barely even know them."
"You need to read Solanne's romance novels instead of histories and breeding guides. You would think of things like love at first sight."
She remembered her first encounter with Sir Wyldon and her irrational desire to see more of him. "Anything is possible, I suppose," she said with a shrug.
***
In the late afternoon, Vivenne spent her time in the library. She was reading a manual on animal husbandry when Duke Gareth limped in, accompanied by Sir Wyldon.
"Ah, please forgive us, Lady Vivenne," the duke said, bowing politely. "We didn't realize we were interrupting anyone."
"Please stay," she said, smiling. "Unless you're planning on discussing matters unfit for my ears?"
He shook his head. "Nothing of the sort. We just came from some peace discussions, and needed a quiet moment away from the other delegates."
"Peace seems much more difficult than war," Vivenne sighed.
"You're wise for your years," Wyldon said, one corner of his wide mouth turned up in a wry smile.
"I've heard that today is your birthday," Duke Gareth said, taking a seat next to Vivenne. "And that the ball tonight is partially in your honor."
"Yes, it is," she said, blushing. "A seventeenth birthday is something highly celebrated among Tusaine noblewomen. It marks the period where a girl is now available for marriage contracts."
"Marriage contracts," Wyldon repeated, frowning. "Is this something more formal than a verbal agreement?" He leaned back against one of the bookshelves, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Absolutely," Vivenne said, putting her book aside. "In Tusaine, the marriage contract is negotiated by the father of the noblewoman and her potential fiancé. It's a formal written document, to be presented at the marriage ceremony."
"Does a woman not have a say in who she marries?" Wyldon demanded, his eyes blazing.
"Wyldon, calm yourself," Duke Gareth advised. "The lady will think you insufferable. Because it is not your way does not mean it is wrong."
Vivenne stared coolly back into Wyldon's eyes. "Most fathers gives their daughters the right to refuse. And no marriage is made in the eyes of the Goddess –as all Tusaine marriages are performed – if a woman refuses her future husband. The first line of a handfasting is the acknowledgement that a woman joins it of her own free will, after all."
"So tonight's ball is to show you off to potential suitors? To anyone who wants to draw up a contract with your father, even if he already has a wife?"
Vivenne lowered her eyes, uncomfortable with his stony gaze. "I know our customs are strange to an outsider, but they're still our customs. Women of Tusaine are comfortable in our marriage traditions." She stood, curtseying to Duke Gareth. "If you'll excuse me, I need to prepare for tonight."
She left the room without saying another word to Wyldon.
***
The ballroom hadn't been used for months – since the Midwinter Ball announcing Margarethe's acceptance of Sir Gavrel. It had been aired out over the last few days and dusted and decorated by the servants. It was the most ornate room in the estate, with a wall of mirrors and silver trim on every surface. Instead of oil lamps or candles, the room was lit with mage globes; the crowning glory was an elaborate chandelier with tiny spheres of magical light, illuminating the room with a pure, steady radiance.
Vivenne felt conspicuous in her gold gown – it was fancier than anything she had ever worn in her life, with its silver lace-covered kirtle and gold brocade over-robe, complete with silver threadwork. Even her hair was elaborate, pulled into a very high chignon with thin gold and silver ribbons woven in; several tendrils were loose and curled, framing her face. Topaz ear-bobs dangled from her lobes and a gold and silver carcanet adorned her neck. Sir Wyldon, she noted, could not keep his eyes off of her.
Not that she could keep her eyes off of him. Even as bewildered as she was by his aggressive antagonism earlier in the day, she couldn't help but notice how handsome he looked in his long white tunic and black hose. On his chest he wore a medallion hanging from a blue ribbon – a likely medal from the king of Tortall. He stood off to one side of the ballroom, near the doors to the veranda, drinking wine and conversing with Baron Chal and Count Leandre.
"Ah, there's my darling girl!" her father's voice boomed across the ballroom. He left Wyldon's side and walked toward her. "Happy birthday, my dear. You are just as beautiful as your mother was on the night I met her. Every man will have his eye on you tonight."
She felt her cheeks burn. "Thank you, Father," she said, kissing his cheek.
"We have some very important guests tonight – including Lord Nikol of Maderen. I expect you to speak and dance with as many of them as you can."
"Yes, Father," she replied dutifully. While she was not the hostess of this ball, it was customary for a girl to take the lead at a ball held in honor of her coming of age. It would be her duty to circulate and spend time with every man who was entertaining the notion of having her as his wife. And given the peace conference, she could not overlook the Tortallan delegates, even though many were married and did not practice polygamy.
Count Leandre took her by the hand and led her to the small dais upon which the small orchestra was warming up. He clapped his hands to gain the attention of those mingling in the enormous hall, and greeted the crowd warmly. "We would like to welcome the Tortallan delegates to what is likely their first experience in a Tusaine ballroom. And we thank and welcome Prince Jonathan, the Crown Prince of Tortall, as well as our own King Ain."
Vivenne, along with all the ladies in the ballroom, curtseyed deeply, bowing her head to both Prince Jonathan and King Ain. The noblemen bowed.
"But tonight," her father continued, "we also celebrate the birthday of my third daughter. Vivenne of Drell Valley turns seventeen today, and we welcome her into adulthood." His words had previously been punctuated with polite applause, but now it was more enthusiastic. Local families knew and loved Vivenne, and Tusaine nobles understood the importance of a seventeenth birthday. The Tortallans seemed to like Vivenne's company as well. Count Leander held up his hand, waiting for silence before he continued. "The king has asked for the first dance, and as he is her uncle and my sovereign, I could hardly refuse him."
The music began and Vivenne stepped down to meet her uncle on the dance floor. He was a very good dancer, and led her very gracefully through the traditional opening rigaudon. There wasn't a chance to speak – it was a very lively dance from southern Tusaine, and even for those, like Vivenne, who did not have to concentrate on the footwork, it could be difficult to converse due to shortness of breath – and she was a touch relieved to be free of the duty.
The dance was very short, and was met with applause when it ended. Instead of the traditional curtsey and bow, the king kissed her cheek and wished her a happy birthday. She thanked him and was immediately swept into another dance with a Tortallan knight, then three Tusaine nobles, and finally after that she found herself opposite Prince Jonathan.
"Happy birthday," he murmured as they walked side-by-side to the music, hands clasped. "You seem to be in high spirits this evening."
"I love to dance," she answered.
"I owe you an apology, Lady Vivenne, for how I behaved last night. The wine and my own restlessness got the better of me, and I'm truly sorry if I frightened or offended you."
She turned to face him, as the steps demanded. "I appreciate your apology," she said warmly and honestly. "And while I wasn't in the frame of mind for dancing then, tonight I can truthfully say that you're the best dance partner I've had all evening."
"I can say the same."
They continued their minuet with enthusiasm and expertise. Vivenne did love to dance, and it was clear that the prince was equally accomplished. When she curtseyed deeply and he bowed at the end of the dance, he asked if she would be willing to continue.
"I'm very sorry your highness, but I have other guests to consider," she said, smiling inwardly at the recollection of Sir Wyldon's comment about people indulging the prince.
She moved toward the side of the ballroom, where servants were carrying trays of champagne, wine and juice. She took a champagne flute and sat on one of the stiff chairs, watching the other dancers.
Lord Nikol sat down next to her almost immediately. "Mithros, but you're a sight for sore eyes, Lady Vivenne. Every man returning from war should be so lucky."
She blushed and thanked him. He was a large man with dark blond hair and green eyes. If she hadn't known him all her life he might seem imposing. "It seems so long since you last attended a dinner at Drell Valley. Is Lady Yvaine here with you tonight?" she asked, peering around the ballroom for her distinctive red hair.
"Alas, I came straight from the front," he replied smoothly. "I'm afraid there was no opportunity to see my wife prior to my arrival."
"You've been at the front all this time? I thought there was a cease in the fighting."
"Yes, there haven't been any skirmishes, but the army maintains its position on the border, and knights are needed to command and work with the army."
"Your dedication is admirable."
"Thank you," he replied, grinning. His teeth were straight and white, and his smile lit up his handsome face. "I admit that it's strange, having considered Tortall the enemy for so long, to see our women dance happily with them in a Tusaine ballroom."
"They've been nothing but polite," she said defensively, coloring.
"I didn't mean to remark upon your behavior or theirs," he said quickly, touching her hand in a reassuring manner. "It's an adjustment I have to make for the sake of peace. Though some faces," he said, glowering in the direction of Sir Wyldon and Lord Imrah, "will be harder to adjust to."
Her eyes flicked to the two Tortallan men who were chatting on the opposite side of the ballroom. "Do you speak of Lord Imrah of Legann or Sir Wyldon of Cavall?"
He blinked, momentarily confused. "I don't know the name of the man who maimed half of the knights under my command. It's the younger of those two."
"Sir Wyldon," she whispered, her lips numb.
Almost as if he had heard her, his eyes met hers and he tossed her the slightest of smiles.
She stood suddenly, turning to Nikol. "Would you care to dance?"
If he was taken aback by her forwardness, it did not show. "I did so love to dance with you when you were little," he replied, smiling up at her. "But this music calls for a more complicated step than I can gracefully manage. You should enjoy your evening with men who are light on their feet." He stood and bowed to her graciously, excusing himself.
She returned her empty champagne glass to a servant passing by and looked for her sisters. Solanne was dancing with a married baron from northern Tusaine and Margarethe was with her intended. It was their first reunion since the war, and they looked reluctant to part even for one dance. Therefore it was a great surprise when she saw Sir Wyldon dancing with Margarethe for the next dance.
He was light on his feet. He was not a natural dancer, like the prince, but he moved with precision. Margarethe was laughing, and Wyldon was smiling sheepishly. They conversed with ease as they danced, and Vivenne could not help but wonder what they spoke of.
"She likes your knight very much," a low and gravely voice whispered into her ear.
Vivenne spun around to find Gavrel smiling at her. He was an attractive man with reddish-brown hair that he wore in a long horse-tail. He had laughing blue-green eyes and a weak mouth that was masked with a close-cropped beard.
"You frightened me!" Vivenne teased.
"Because you did not expect me, or because you did not expect me to know of your secret?"
"Both," she said. "What do you think of him?" she asked, turning around to face the dancers again.
"I thought he seemed a little stiff at first, until he smiled. Margarethe tells me he likes riding and that you already are in love with his mount."
"His stallion is gorgeous," Vivenne said. "I'm surprised Father hasn't offered to buy him and put him to stud."
"Vivi, you're in a ballroom," Gavrel reminded her. "It's hardly the place to speak of such coarse things as breeding."
Vivenne snorted. "I'm rather sure that you and Margarry have discussed it quite a bit."
He laughed outright. "O-ho! Look who's gotten cheeky in my absence. Will you dance with me, my future little sister?"
She agreed, and they danced a minuet and a courante together, laughing throughout. She loved spending time with Gavrel because she did not have to be polite to him – he saw her as an incorrigible brat, and she rather liked having the freedom to be one. When they finished, she declined the offer to dance with another Tusaine knight, and instead joined Gavrel at her sister's side.
"I have juice for you, Vivi," Margarethe said. "You don't want to drink too much champagne or wine – you'll regret it in the morning."
Vivenne thanked her and took the glass, surprised to see that her sister had also pressed a note into her hand. She looked at her quizzically, but Margarethe simply smiled. "I would sit out on the terrace if I were you," she advised. "It's cooler out there, and you're flushed from dancing."
She took her sister's advice and walked out to the terrace, glass in hand. She was able to find a well-lit but secluded bench where she could sit and read the note.
'Lady Vivenne –
I owe the sincerest apology after my behavior this afternoon; I cannot justify or excuse myself, and I wish to speak with you so I can make it up to you. Please let me know if there is any way you can slip away from the festivities tonight. I remain yours,
- Wyldon of Cavall.'
She quickly drank the rest of her juice and walked back to the ballroom, handing off her goblet to a servant. She joined Margarethe, who was watching their father dance with Lady Colinne. He held her closer than the steps were designed and whispered into her ear.
"Do you think men have a favorite wife?" Margarethe asked. "One they love more than the others?"
"I'm sure they love them all, but in different ways," Vivenne answered, wrapping one arm around her sister's waist. Margarethe leaned her head against hers and they continued to watch.
"You should marry your Tortallan," she said with a small sigh. "Then you will never have to worry about him finding a younger, prettier wife."
Vivenne giggled. "But then I would have to worry about him leaving me to live with a younger, prettier woman."
"That's awful," Margarethe said, laughing. Her voice dropped lower as she asked: "Did you read his message?"
"Of course."
"And will you meet him?"
"Of course."
"It's warm in here. I worry that you might faint from the heat, being laced up as tight as you are."
"I'm not—" Vivenne stopped, seeing her sister's expression.
"The salon. That's where you can meet." With that, she left Vivenne's side, rejoining her betrothed.
Vivenne saw that Sir Wyldon was the nearest non-dancing man in the room, so she crossed to him at once. "How goes your evening, sir?"
"Much better, now that you've spoken to me."
"I was hearing tales of you earlier," she said. "Lord Nikol – a longtime friend of the family – complains that you have maimed his underlings in combat."
"Yes, I know who you speak of," Wyldon said, his eyes hard as he gazed at Nikol, who stood on the opposite side of the room. "He has been glowering at me all evening because he is careless with the men whose safety he was charged with."
"Was he careless, or are you simply better skilled?"
He studied her carefully before answering. "A knight who is not as skilled can still win combat, if he is careful. It is my duty to be so – it is not only my life or my men's lives that I am fighting for. I'm protecting my family, my tenants – their families. When I led soldiers into the river to fight Lord Nikol's men, I knew that some would die. It was my duty to keep them as safe as possible, but still defend the ground we were sent there to hold. That meant taking advantage of weaknesses in Lord Nikol's lines. If I took out a large number of combatants, it's because he was ill-prepared and did not react well to my challenge."
She gazed at him thoughtfully as he spoke. There was much to admire in his outlook on duty. "Are all Tortallans as serious about their duties as you are? It's a very attractive trait in a person."
He colored slightly at the compliment. "While we are complimenting what we find attractive, I would be negligent if I did not tell you that you are absolutely breathtaking this evening. Would you be willing to dance with me?"
She was about to accept, but the music changed. It was a lilting piece she was not sure she was accustomed to dancing to. A small number of ladies were dancing, most of them in the arms of Tortallan men. "I-I'm afraid I don't know this dance."
He smiled down at her. "It's the waltz the prince wanted to teach you. You're an instinctive dancer and it's quite easy – I'm sure you'll be fine."
Leading her to the dance floor, he put one arm around her waist and held the other firmly in his hand. Her heart quickened at the heat of his hand through the delicate silk of her gown. Her mind involuntarily flashed back to the last time he had been so close.
He coached her through the first few measures, and she was relieved to learn that it really was a simple step. He was not technically as good a dancer as the prince, but she felt comfortable in his arms.
"Did you read the message?" he murmured. She at once realized the benefit of the waltz was not the arm held tight around her waist, but the very personal conversation such close positions afforded.
"Yes, indeed" she answered smiling up at him coquettishly. "Your penmanship if quite fine, sir knight."
"Thank you, but I'm more interested in your opinion of its content."
"I found it lacking in emotion."
The corners of his wide mouth turned up into a wry smile. "While not specifically stated, I assure you that it was heartfelt and sincere."
"In that case, I'm quite agreeable to your suggestion."
"Is it possible?" He looked at her with such hope and eagerness that she could no longer tease him with her aloofness.
"Do you know where the second floor salon is?" she asked. "I will be there."
The dance ended and he kissed her hand, his eyes possessive as he gazed into hers.
She barely had time to breathe before she was asked to dance by another man – Lord Nikol of Maderen.
"I thought you did not dance gavottes, my lord!" she cried in surprise.
He caressed her hand with his thumb, smiling warmly at her. "How could I refrain, with you so enthusiastically taking to all the dances?"
She blushed and pulled her hand away faster than the dance dictated.
"May I give you some friendly advice?"
"Of course you may. I appreciate any wisdom you can impart to me."
"The knight from Cavall can barely keep his eyes off of you. He has watched you all evening, and is doing so now," Nikol said, frowning. "It would probably be best to nip that in the bud before he takes any liberties."
Vivenne smiled sweetly at him. "I assure you that no undesired advances have been made, but I thank you for your concern." She was not happy that he had noticed Wyldon's stare, for that implied that he was overly interested in her.
They continued their dance in silence, and when asked for another she politely declined. "I'm afraid I'm entirely too warm," she said, wiping her brow. It was a perfect opportunity, she realized, so she pretended to faint.
He caught her easily, and with her head lolled backward in his arms, she could see through her lashes that Gavrel and Margarethe were running to her aid. Sir Gavrel scooped her up in his arms, and she remained limp in his arms.
"She was saying that she felt warm," Nikol explained. "The next thing I knew she had fainted."
"We should get her someplace cool," Margarethe said. "Gavrel, carry her up to the salon."
Lady Eiralys came to their sides, fussing over Vivenne. "We should take her up to her bedroom and change her out of these clothes," she said when they were out of the ballroom. "No doubt she laced herself up too tight."
"She just needs rest and cool air," Margarethe said. "She'll be devastated if she misses the rest of the ball."
"Fine then," her mother said, and they proceeded to take her to the salon.