Chapter 2
Farah had been staring out the window.
She was trying her best not to look anxious, or give away her excitement. Mother and Father didn't react well to her positive opinions on her uncle and aunt so she did her best to keep it hidden. She started learning that lesson when she was very young, when she had spent summers with her extended family for her health. She had weak lungs when she was little, and the doctors encouraged her trips to the countryside. Her father would react tartly if she seemed too thrilled about her trip, or too happy and full of stories upon her return home.
She learned quickly that the family did not have much space in their hearts for Fiyero and Elphaba.
It always struck her as confusing, but she knew better than to challenge it. Father often spoke of his older brother as empty headed, unfit for the crown and unwilling to participate in what it meant to be royal. Mother agreed with father, and her Grandfather agreed as well. She had been there when Grandfather passed, his last few minutes were spent incoherently rambling about his estranged son and daughter-in-law. It was mostly negative. Farah had never seen that side of her grandfather before, at least he hadn't been so upfront about it in her presence. It made her loathe her funeral blacks, she didn't feel much like mourning after what he said.
"He's late, naturally." Her father quipped, looser with his words than usual, "The fucking prick."
Farah said nothing, she sat and listened to her father's opinion. She watched him pour another glass of cranberry spirit from the decanter, coping with the loss of his father the only way he knew how. He continued with his little rant, aiming it in Farah's direction like he felt she needed to hear it, "King Fuckhead. Never cared about anyone but himself."
"It's still morning." Farah cautiously answered, but kept her eyes fixed on the window.
He huffed, "Late morning. He's been late his whole life. Late on the uptick," He sat at his leather chair and began talking to the ceiling, "Late to marriage. Father would have flayed me if I waited that long to get married." His hand went over his face as the alcohol he'd been compulsively swigging finally caught up to him, "And to pick that woman over…" His free hand waved in the air for effect, "Anyone else. Anyone Vinken. Anyone normal."
He seemed to have forgotten that he wasn't alone. Farah's brow furrowed, she hated the way he talked about Uncle Yero but she especially despised how he spoke about Aunt Fae. The woman had raised her, not that her father would ever acknowledge that he and her mother had been distant parents, so distant that she needed to travel hours and hours into the western countryside to find someone who cared for her as a mother would. For all their talk of her flaws, Fae was the one who taught Farah to feel. Fae was the woman Farah cried to.
But Farah's parents had no time for a spare. She was the firstborn, yes, but she was… well, she was a her. Her little brother Manek would be king.
Sometimes Farah would be in the study when he began drunkenly rambling about his desire to be king. How he wished his brother would simply die and leave the throne to him. He was primed to be king since he was the one who stayed put, he insisted. He served his father, he learned from his father, and Manek was learning from him. They would save The Vinkus from the destruction his brain dead brother would bring.
It was true that Manek was next in line. The family had, secretly, breathed a sigh of relief when Elphaba continuously failed to bring a child into the world. Now, with so much time gone by, it was obvious that she never would. Manek would have the throne when Fiyero was done with it.
Farah admired Elphaba for that, though. While no one else appreciated it, Farah was fascinated by the concept that a woman did not have to be a mother to be loved or valued by someone.
She caught shapes moving in the courtyard below. She saw and heard the gates creak open, accompanied by shouting commands from those who worked the gate, and turned to her father to see if he had heard the commotion. He was passed out, his hand still over his eyes like it wanted to crush him flat. She decided not to bother waking him. She stood and abandoned the sleeping man, his drinking glass still full but forgotten on the table next to his armchair.
She felt the hallways come alive as she made her way through the corridors. The whole castle had been lying in wait for their new king, and the commotion at the front gate woke everyone like a sleeping curse had been lifted from them. She took her preferred shortcut, through the servant's quarters. She considered herself lucky to be welcomed there, she loved the staff and often snuck into their quarters to feel safe when her family started to feel unwelcoming.
She peeked into the kitchen as she passed it. Servants were finishing the last of their scrubbing, removing fresh baked bread from the oven, plating mountains of fresh stone fruit and cheeses. She found herself caught in the beauty of the sights and smells, and almost bowled over a young serving girl with an arm full of polished gold plates.
"Farah!" She cried out as they collided.
"Shit!" Farah exclaimed, gripping onto the girl and spinning her into the wall to break a potential fall, "Sorry, Shia."
The girls froze in their positions, breathing heavily as the rush of the collision passed through them. Farah and Shia had been friends since they were little. Shia, the daughter of the head of staff, had been born the same day as Farah. The staff joked about their magnetism to each other, out of earshot of the royals, of course.
"Farah…" Shia spoke informally to the royal girl, "You can let go."
Farah blushed as she realized she was still holding on to break Shia's fall. She released her grip, flustered and bumbling just like her uncle, "Sorry."
Shia giggled and pushed back her chestnut hair, balancing the dining plates in one hand while she did, it was always falling out of her braids and into her face, "Go say hello to your Aunt Fae, you can apologize properly later."
Farah grinned, "I'll steal a bottle of something and meet you on the roof later tonight?'
Shia nodded, and broke into a speedy walk just in time for a gaggle of serving ladies to round the corner and disrupt their privacy. Farah tried not to watch her go, but couldn't help it for some reason. When Shia was out of sight, Farah continued, picking up speed but being careful to avoid any further bump-ins with the staff.
She burst through the side door to the courtyard, in time to see the carriage parked. The morning air greeted her. The horses were being unclipped from the wagon and led to the stables for a deserved rest. She skittered to a stop, catching her breath and watched a green hand reach out from the carriage door and accept the stablemaster's hand.
Elphaba Tiggular glided down the carriage steps and looked right at Farah. She grinned wryly, like she knew Farah would be there. Elphaba was glorious to Farah. Her long black hair had been wound up into a simple and practical bun, her trademark choice of black clothing had evolved over the past few years to include more deep browns, and even some dark greens on occasion. Today, for travel, she favored a pair of black, ballooned pants with a tapered ankle, tucked into brown riding boots. She wore one of Fiyero's loose linen tunics, faded with frequent wears, which she tucked into the pants. A wide brown leather belt cinched her waist, and a short black travel cape with green trim around its edges.
The girl broke into an uncontrollable gallop and collided with her aunt. She smelled like herbs. Lavender, parsley, rosemary, cinnamon, she smelled like all of them at once. Earthen and welcoming, Elphaba seemed to have brought the countryside with her.
"You're too tall," Elphaba muttered into her ear as they rocked back and forth in their hug, "How old are you, anyway?"
Elphaba liked to pretend that she didn't know or care. Farah snickered, "I'm ancient, I turned 100 last week."
Their hug broke and Elphaba playfully pointed to Farah's forehead, "I see the wrinkles, you should have moisturized more." She produced an envelope from her pocket, "I'm sorry we missed your 21st."
Farah took it with thanks and kissed Elphaba's cheek, her father had insisted that she have her latest birthday at Kiamo Ko. Fiyero and Elphaba had not been invited.
Uncle Yero caught up to the pair and encircled his niece in a great bear hug, "Did you give her the letter?" He asked his wife.
"She did," Farah spoke, returning the hug, "Thank you, both."
"Don't read it yet," Fiyero said, "You'll have to save it till the night of the coronation."
Farah frowned and turned the envelope over in her hand, "I've never been good with patience."
Elphaba couldn't hold back a smile, she looked directly at Fiyero and said, "Sounds like you."
It had been several years, sadly, since Elphaba had seen her. The older she got, the more her parents insisted that she no longer needed her summer visits. Fae watched her husband and her niece side by side. Farah looked so much like Fiyero. The wavy and dark hair ran in the family, but it was more than the coloring of her hair, it was her smile. Her eyes. Her nose. Those were his features, too. But there was something else, there was something mischievous about Farah, Elphaba had a feeling that she had also inherited her uncle's habit of breaking rules.
"Just put it in your room somewhere and do your best to forget about it." Elphaba said, "I assume your family is waiting for us inside."
"No royal greeting for the black sheep." Fiyero shrugged, "I didn't expect them to meet us out front."
It stung him, Elphaba could tell. But she didn't remark upon it, not with Farah next to them.
Farah tensed at the idea of her family anyway, "There is breakfast for you, my mother and brothers should be there." She thought of her father, asleep in his armchair, and didn't expect to see him this morning.