The line of tents stretched nearly a mile west of Arefi's oasis. After hours of traversing the makeshift town, Castor had given up on settling nearby and staked out a spot on the outer edge. His tent, he noticed now that it was set up, looked shabby and poor compared to the deep reds and purples of the tents around him.
Why did I ever think it would help me fit in? he wondered. With his small, dull yellow tent and two-man staff, he looked little more than a beggar. His nearest neighbor, by comparison, had a tent five times the size of his and a dozen more surrounding it for his entourage. From what Castor had seen, this was one of the lesser displays of wealth.
A flicker of movement from behind a neighboring tent caught his eye, but when he turned, whoever had been there was long gone. He could, however, hear a girlish giggle from that direction, and his cheeks flushed. Arija's sisters had been spying on him. He was only too sure they would mock him and his apparent poverty.
"So, you have just arrived?" a voice said from behind him.
Castor turned to see a rather heavy-browed man, perhaps fifteen years his senior, regarding him curiously.
"I have," he said warily.
The man's face broke into a smile. "I have been here two months now, awaiting my turn. You will be lucky if the mystery is not solved when it comes to yours."
Castor frowned, trying to find the threat in this man's words. He got a full-bodied laugh for his efforts.
"We are hardly competitors, you and I," the man said. "It would appear this is a contest that cannot be won. Eight months it has gone on, and still no man knows the answer. All who remain here are merely here for appearances' sake. It would look amiss, would it not, if some man gave up his chance to win one of Tryggin's beauties?"
Castor wasn't entirely sure how to answer the man's question. He knew little of Pynterri customs, and less of their honor. The man laughed again.
"You are a foreigner," he said unnecessarily. "The first this competition has seen. Perhaps your eyes will see what ours have not."
"I come from Marigina, across the sea," Castor replied, unsure as to why he was volunteering the information. "Once I was engaged to one of Arefi's daughters. Our betrothal ended when the contest began."
"It is a powerful alliance, to be sure. Strange, though, that you should consider it important enough to sail across the ocean for it."
"Some things are meant to be."
"A cryptic answer. Tell me, Mariginese, is this how you will speak to your young wife when you win her?"
Castor looked away, embarrassed. He could hardly explain his visions to this stranger. At best, the man would laugh at him again; at worst, try to use him for his own gain. Castor had heard stories of such things happening to seers.
"I see I have offended you. I apologize," the man said. "My name is Binyamin, of Tribe Adalla. I am afraid I fall into both categories you will see here: I am a second son, and I am a widower in need of a new wife. This makes me doubly anxious to win."
Castor allowed a tight smile. "I'm Castor, prin— Crown Prince— of Marigina. I am here to win the bride who was denied me."
Binyamin laughed again. "Lofty words from a man so young, yet I suppose a man of your position must learn them well. Come, Castor Crown Prince of Marigina, and I will show you the object of your affection."
"That won't be necessary."
"Come, it is near dinnertime. If we are lucky, we may see the girls as they go to dinner."
It wasn't how Castor had hoped to meet Arija, but it would have to do.
"A new one has arrived today," Kíraz reported gleefully as she took her place beside Kader at the loom.
"What of it?" Nasimi replied irritably. "New ones arrive every day."
Kader rushed to her twin's defense. "Not like this one. He is foreign."
"That is interesting," Zara chimed in from across the tent. "We have not had anyone from a different country compete. What was he like?"
The twins exchanged a glance before Kíraz replied. "We did not catch more than a glimpse. He only brought men he hired in Aran, and of those only two."
"All he had was a trunk and a small satchel," Kader added. "He must be quite poor."
"Did you catch his name?"
"Or where he is from?"
"What did he look like?"
Arija forced herself to focus on her weaving as her sisters peppered the twins with questions. The two of them lapped up the attention eagerly, as all too often they were overlooked among their sisters. But when she heard the word "Marigina" she abandoned her pretense and joined in the conversation.
"Marigina, you said? He comes from Marigina?"
Elil raised an eyebrow at her. "Are you deaf, sister, that you did not hear? He came from Marigina to marry one of us."
"What is wrong?" Lahleh asked, seeing Arija's body tense.
"The man I was to marry was from Marigina. Surely he would not have come all this way for a political alliance?"
"It is a good alliance," Dílara said. "Father is the most powerful of the thanes here, and Pynterri glass is prized across the sea." She had ever been proud of their father's accomplishments.
"It is not that good an alliance," Arija pointed out. "Kelline's king has a granddaughter of fifteen years, and it would be a far stronger ally. It makes no sense!"
"Perhaps he has not come for you, then," Ayman said. "Perhaps he is just a nobleman out of Marigina who fancies a lovely wife."
"Perhaps," Arija said, but for the rest of the day she was distracted, wondering who this man was, who was so determined to wed her that he would cross an ocean to compete for her hand.
Hardly had she managed to forget this mysterious foreign suitor when she caught a glimpse of him on her way to dinner. He was standing with an older man she had seen before, and next to him the man's exoticness was unmistakeable. His skin was a far smoother brown, his hair a thick nest of dark curls, and his eyes were an intense green such as she had never seen except in dyes. His gaze was fixed on her, and she felt her face grow hot under it.
Was this the man she had been promised to? Had he come to win her in spite of her father's proclamation? Arija stopped just short of colliding with Roshanara. She shook her head to clear her thoughts before following her sister into the tent.
"That is he," she heard Kíraz say behind her. "The one who is staring so intently. Have you ever seen eyes such as those?"
"He is quite handsome," Dílara replied. "His eyes are so bright!"
"He is looking at you, Arija," Lahleh whispered in her ear.
"No surprise," Elil said irritably. "Every man seems to stare at her."
"You have had your share of admirers," Lahleh scolded. "There is no need for jealousy."
Arija smiled gratefully at her sister before taking her seat at Arefi's side. Tonight's competitor was a fat man at least sixty years old whose lecherous gaze was fixed on the young twins. He was not the first to want a bride so young, but that gave Arija little comfort. What if this one should slip by their defenses and win the contest? What would her little sisters do then?
She pushed her worries aside to focus on maintaining dinner conversation, but her thoughts kept drifting to the intense green gaze of the Mariginese man.
Arija sighed deeply as she gazed across the open desert. Here, on the east end of the oasis, the village of tents that had sprung up with the contest's inception was completely out of sight, the noises it brought muffled until they were barely noticeable. Here, Arija could imagine that the last eight months had never happened, that she was the eldest daughter of a wealthy thane, soon to be sent off to be married. Here, her sisters were her friends, their secret was harmless, and her father's wealth would provide dowries for all of them.
"What is wrong?" Lahleh's voice asked from behind her.
"Nothing." She continued staring at the windswept desert, gleaming silver in the moonlight. She did not look at her sister until she stood at her side.
"You only come out here when something is wrong," Lahleh said. "Is it the foreigner?"
"I feel as though I have talked myself through this a hundred times. I would have been wed months ago if Father had not discovered us. I will now marry whoever wins this contest, should he choose me. I have told myself this time and again, and yet one glimpse of the man I was to marry and I am upset all over again!"
Lahleh's hand found Arija's and gave it a gentle squeeze. "It is hard for you, I know. You were the only one of us who was to be wed. Sometimes, our sisters forget that."
"I hate the fortuneteller," Arija said bitterly. "She forced us into this, into doing it again when we were nearly done. It is because of her that I am not married, that Father is—"
She stopped abruptly. Lahleh could not know of her family's financial troubles. No one could. Arefi had trusted her.
"Father is what?"
Arija was silent.
"He does not have enough money, does he?"
Arija looked away, not wanting to answer, but her silence was all the response Lahleh needed.
"How bad is it?" she breathed.
"He can continue the contest until our year is up. But he will not be able to dower any of us."
Lahleh bit her lip. Arija knew what she was thinking: without a dowry, how were any of them to wed?
"No one else may know," Arija entreated softly.
"I will not tell. It is hard to hear, and the younger ones need not be burdened with it."
It was Arija's turn to squeeze her sister's hand. "Thank you."
The two girls stood in silence for a long moment, watching the moonlit sand swirl across the desert.
"I suppose we shall have our demon princes as husbands," Lahleh said, breaking the silence.
Arija could hear the distaste behind her optimism. "Oh, Lahleh," she began, but her sister held up her hand to stop her.
"Enough of this sadness and pity," she said. "Was your prince not a handsome man? The way he stared at you, as if he were seeing a goddess…you are lucky."
"Lucky? How? That the man I would have married finds me beautiful? I will not marry him now."
"How do you know he will not win?"
"I will give him the herbs myself, and watch him drink them."
"Watch those eyes as they fall asleep?" Lahleh prodded.
Arija could not contain a smile, and she playfully shoved her sister away.
"Admit it, he is a handsome man!"
Arija bit her bottom lip, though she kept smiling. "Very well. Yes, he is undeniably one of the most handsome men I have ever seen."
"More so than your demon prince?"
Arija thought of X, of his black eyes and unmoving face, of his manner that seemed always on edge, and then of the Mariginese man, who had looked at her as though she were the only thing in the world. Yes, this foreigner was handsome, but his was a beauty of this world. X was more like a god, exotic and unearthly.
"I said he was one of the most handsome men I have ever seen," she answered finally. "I never said he was the most handsome."
Lahleh laughed, then took Arija's arm. "Come, our sisters will be wondering where we have been."
Castor couldn't sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Arija's face as she looked at him curiously. He should have known word of his arrival would reach her. His guess this afternoon had been correct: Arija's sisters had been spying on him. He wondered what they'd told her.
"I thought I could handle seeing her from a distance," he muttered to himself. "How wrong I was."
Seeing her in person had only increased his need to be near her, to speak to her, to touch her. His visions had shown her appearance, but they hadn't shown her, the aura of life she gave off, her expressions, her mannerisms. He felt like he had just had wine after months of only water, so great was the difference.
He stood up and began pacing the tiny tent, taking care not to trip on the rugs that covered the sandy ground. The rugs had cost more than the tent and hired servants combined, but now that he had been in Pynterre for a few weeks, he understood their necessity. They didn't keep the sand out of everything, but they went a long way to containing it.
Where was Arija now? Was she in her tent, preparing to disappear for the night? Was she standing on the edge of the desert, as he had so often seen her? Was she drugging another unfortunate competitor to keep her secrets safe? Had she been as affected by seeing him as he had?
The last question plagued him most. He wanted to find her, to introduce himself and gauge her reaction. He wanted to take her now and lead her back to Marigina, where they could be wed. He wanted…he wanted…it was more than he could put into words.
Is this, he wondered, what love is?
So my goal for this month is to finish part one. Is that likely to happen? We'll see. In the meanwhile, reviews, por favor?
~~Mazzie~~