Chapter 10 An Assortment of Brides
An Assortment of Brides
Rathe Castle sat upon a cliff, the size of which varied based on the whims of the royal family.
Sometimes the cliff was a slender needle of rock, closer to the sky than the sea and impossible for enemies to scale.
Sometimes, when the cliff was in a languorous mood, it was a jetty stretching into the Famishing so that it might be tickled by the white-capped waves.
And sometimes, like today, the cliff and the Castle conspired to become something else entirely.
Arris understood that all he had done was step outside … but it didn’t seem like that. It was as if he had stepped into another world altogether. A world of winter.
The familiar gardens and fountains had vanished, paved over with acres and acres of cold wonder.
A maze of white roses bloomed out of the snow.
An iced-over lake—which had not existed yesterday—reflected the dark branches of the cliff’s scarlet elms and honey oaks.
Atop the lake, a glass dining boat carved in the shape of a wyvern effortlessly carried a shining feast. Towering sculptures of frosty swans and crystalline peacocks held lanterns in their beaks and strutted along a welcome path that stretched from the castle gates.
All of this was encircled by slender diamond trees, each branch sleeved in snowy seed pearls that braided through the air.
Arris looked around in awe. Followed by mild horror. The horror was not, as one would imagine, about the imminent tournament where his life hung in the balance. His horror was of a more sartorial nature.
Yvlle loved to mock how long it took her brother to get ready. Arris had a process. There was the morning’s diary entry, the focusing of one’s intentions upon a lit candle, his daily olfactory journey to discern the day’s fragrance, his constitutional walk, his hour-long bath.
And that was what he did before he selected his clothing, the process of which required an evaluation of the day’s requirements, his mood, the dream from last night, the whims of the weather and the cook’s menu for the day.
“You are the fussiest peacock on the whole of the Isle,” his sister often said.
Yvlle had no such qualms about her wardrobe, considering that she wore black at morning, day and night. There were no exceptions.
“I consider my morning ritual as an act of communion with the world around me,” Arris had tried to explain. “It allows me to appreciate the length of the day to the fullest extent—”
At this point in the conversation, his sister had lobbed a fruit at his head.
Today, Arris settled on a pair of cream felt trousers, a long-sleeved tunic with an embroidered fox that slunk from one corner of cloth to the next and finally a cloak woven from moonlight reflecting off the sea.
It billowed behind him, flashing silver and indigo, and was attached to his tunic by a pair of lustreel brooches shaped like branches.
Arris had the sinking realization that he matched the scenery. Was this some kind of omen? And most importantly:
Should he change?
Arris would have done so immediately, but just then a silver staircase spiraled down from the balcony several stories above him. It was a summons he could not ignore.
At the top of the staircase, Arris saw his parents sitting on velvet chaises. On a low table before them was a pair of binoculars—ostensibly for watching the parade of brides—and a rich spread of figs, porridge, spiced tea and egg tarts.
Queen Yzara was dressed in a morning robe of blue silk embroidered with silver and encrusted with sapphires at the cuffs.
King Eustis had disregarded protocol as usual and still wore his sleeping tunic and night cap.
He was thoroughly ignoring his bowl of porridge for a brand-new book.
Arris watched as his mother sipped her tea, reached into a pouch at her side and dropped a scorpion into his father’s breakfast.
When Yzara looked up and saw her son, a huge grin broke across her face. “There you are, darling! Doesn’t the Castle look splendid? My inspiration was”—Yzara paused to sweep her hands through the air—“a new season of life.”
“It’s lovely,” said Arris.
Yzara beamed. “Speaking of lovely, you look—”
“Like a sacrificial goat,” said Yvlle, stepping out of the Castle stones in a swirl of shadows. “Did you have to wear white?”
“I thought it conveyed a sense of new beginnings…” said Arris. “It is the color of hope.”
“It’s the color of boring.”
“Mother,” said Arris.
“Father,” said Yvlle.
“Children,” said their parents, exasperated.
“This is an important day not just for your brother, but for all of us. Must you antagonize him?” asked Yzara.
“No, but I want to and therein lies the difference,” said Yvlle.
Eustis finally looked up from his novel. He reached for his bowl of porridge, stopping only to gather the scorpion on a spoon and fling it to the floor. He kissed Yzara on the cheek. “You haven’t tried to kill me in a week, my love, I was beginning to feel neglected.”
“I could tell,” said Yzara, patting his head.
“Yvlle, your mother is right. No need to be rude. And Arris, wearing white is…” Eustis considered him. “A choice.”
Arris plucked at his cloak. “Mother, I must change immediately.”
“No!” said Yzara, grabbing his arm. “No, my love. We have all made our choices … and now we must abide by them.”
Eustis raised his pair of binoculars and whatever he saw in the crowd made him grimace. “Arris, you have assembled every option … whoever wins will be your wife. There can be no further delay. You know what is expected of you.”
Hundreds of years ago, Arris’s great-uncle Bloody Felyx had refused to marry.
But rather than risk the gentry forcing his hand, he sowed whispers to one court and the next that he had made a choice elsewhere.
War waged. Towns collapsed. Whole lineages vanished.
And magic on the Isle almost disappeared entirely.
It was not a mistake to be made again.
“Ours is a life of great privilege and great sacrifice,” said Eustis quietly. “It is not an easy burden to bear nor should it be. Of course it is heavy. Of course it is cruel. But what we do is in service of something much greater than ourselves.”
Before Arris could reach for his father’s hand and reassure him, Yvlle cleared her throat:
“Earlier, Arris literally said, ‘If my betrothed must be the death of me, then may she make these final weeks worth several lives.’ It was all very dramatic and solemn, Father, you would have been pleased.”
Arris scowled at her.
“Ah, well, in that case,” said Eustis, and then he reached for a piece of toast.
Next thing Arris knew, Queen Yzara had pushed him gently to the front of the balcony.
The realm of wintry enchantments that Yzara had commissioned for the bridal contestants was separated from Rathe Castle by a wide strip of greenery.
On either side of this road loomed massive statues of grinning stags and too-thin hares, sharp-eyed hawks and several snarling cats.
At the base of each statue, vines coiled and slithered.
As far as warm welcomes to Rathe Castle went, it was … odd.
“Your sister made some additions,” said Queen Yzara.
Whatever else his mother might have said was lost once the heralds raised their trumpets.
As the gates of Rathe Castle opened, Arris held his breath.
His dreams rustled inside him and his world was made vivid with hope.
Yvlle would laugh at him but if Arris could take this moment and press it between glass or translate it to color or render it to song, he would.
The Isle was magic, but to him, this was the most wild of enchantments …
this hope that someone in this crowd would reshape his world and his place within it.
“Breathe, Arris,” said his sister, elbowing him.
Arris exhaled. The gates lifted. And his hopes took wing.
A giant sylke balloon in the shape of a huge rosebud floated through the entrance.
The rosebud unfurled, its petals opening to reveal a beautiful girl at its center.
Her hair was rose pink. A cascading arrangement of pink roses splattered with gold formed her gown.
The girl curtsied prettily as the petals arranged themselves into a staircase, which she descended with the utmost grace.
Arris was smitten, but then a cloud of bejeweled moths burst through the gate and he lost sight of the pink-haired girl.
When the cloud dissipated, another beauty appeared.
She was dark-skinned with snow-colored hair and a dimpled grin.
Arris’s heart started to beat faster, but she had no sooner curtsied in the direction of the balcony before a pair of white crocodiles pushed through the gates, dragging a carriage of bone behind them.
Out stepped a girl with the bluest eyes Arris had ever seen.
Eyes so blue he wondered whether looking into them long enough might reveal the shape of his very soul.
One by one, Arris was dazzled. He was taken by the beauty draped in veils of thinnest frost, the girl who appeared on the back of a water horse, her smile revealing sharp, milky teeth and a splash of scales along her throat.
He found himself daydreaming of a life with nearly every person who passed through the gate.
Nearly. There were a few with whom Arris immediately felt no connection, including a siren who walked inside chewing what appeared to be a human finger, a girl with mud-caked hair and of course the girl who walked in, took one look at the monstrous statues, and promptly left.
Once the contestants had gathered below, Queen Yzara stood.
“Welcome to Rathe Castle!” said Queen Yzara. “At the end of this tournament … our hope is that our beloved son and heir, Prince Arris, finds not only his future bride … but the Isle’s future queen.”