Chapter 22 A Scarcity of Carnal Mischief
A Scarcity of Carnal Mischief
The next morning, Demelza made her way to breakfast.
Unlike the first trial, there was no way to prepare.
A test of discernment? Of noticing? Noticing what?
For the past few days, breakfast had been a time of speculation.
Some of the girls had taken to memorizing details of Arris’s face, reciting them in an odd chant.
Others studied maps of the ever-shifting and sprawling grounds of Rathe Castle, convinced that a test of discernment was one where a future queen would need to know her future home.
All this is to say that Demelza was not particularly concerned by the hushed whispers that met her in the breakfast hall.
It was only when she plopped into the seat across from Ursula and Talvi that she realized something was wrong.
For one, Ursula had a full plate and was not eating. Talvi sipped her tea, and a book—usually opened—lay closed before her. Both of them watched her oddly.
“Yes, I know, my hair is still muddied,” said Demelza, yawning. Eyes half-closed, she fumbled for a cup from the tea service on the middle of the table.
“It’s not that,” said Ursula.
At that moment, wind gusted through the dining room. Demelza and the others looked up to see a swirl of silver near the chandelier of glowing root tendrils. The silvery drift solidified into the fox attendant with a sudden pop!
“Ladies!” it announced. “Considering the second trial will begin the day after tomorrow, this remaining time shall be focused on cultivating the mindset needed for it. Today’s event is optional.
Should you be interested in a demonstration of cloud sculpting by the palace artist, Lady Stratasia, you are welcome to join the royal family in the winter courtyard at your earliest convenience. ”
At the mention of the royal family, the mood in the dining room turned frantic.
Teacups clattered against porcelain plates, sharp words punctuated final grabs for scones and biscuits and the rustle of nightdresses and scrape of pushed-back chairs filled the room as almost all of the contestants made a mad dash for the stairs.
All except Talvi, Ursula and Demelza. Demelza thought they were still hungry, but then she noticed they were watching her. Demelza put down her scone.
“What is it?”
“You … you never seem to be in a rush to meet the prince,” said Talvi, her words careful.
“So?”
Talvi and Ursula exchanged a look.
“So, you are here for the competition, aren’t you?”
Too late, Demelza sensed danger.
“Why else would I be here?”
Ursula stuffed a biscuit in her mouth. “See? Told you. I think the rest of them are full of it.”
“The rest of who are full of what?” asked Demelza.
“Nothing,” said Talvi, too quick. “We believe you.”
There was a small, simpering laugh and Demelza turned to see Edmea descending the staircase.
Her pink hair was piled atop her head and held together with pins shaped like stars.
A dainty silver star winked at the corner of her lip.
She appeared to be wearing a gown stolen from a daydream.
It was bone pale with sheer, billowing sleeves and a high waistline that ended in a ballooned silhouette complete with a smoky, ethereal hemline.
Edmea paused to allow herself to be admired.
“Careful,” she said, before walking out the door.
But she wasn’t speaking to Demelza. She was talking to Talvi and Ursula. Demelza frowned and then she stared at her friends.
“What’s happened?” she asked.
Thanks to Yvlle, a rumor had spread that Demelza was the illegitimate daughter of a minor lord in the Vale of Sylke, cursed from a run-in with an angry toad after she had splashed around in his pond and frightened his tadpoles.
She was allegedly still a bit curse addled and so her mannerisms had not been given much thought.
Until recently.
Demelza practically stomped to the winter gardens, her eyes set on one person and one person only. Ursula and Talvi followed after her. Talvi looked nervous.
“Is this really necessary, Demelza? Perhaps speak to her in private?”
Ursula loped in bear form. A bit of spittle appeared at her muzzle, and Demelza imagined here was General Azeria’s famous bloodlust shining through at last.
“Rip her hair!”
“Ursula!” scolded Talvi. “That is … that is uncouth!”
Ursula huffed.
A crystalline cage enclosed the courtyard, each bar an exquisitely carved piece of ice.
Inside, the air was redolent of winter roses and warmed as if by unseen fires.
Clouds of all sizes—some no larger than a cherry and others briefly gargantuan—floated past Demelza.
A pair of life-sized lovers danced to invisible music, twirling once, then twice, before their forms stretched beyond recognition, flattened and then dissipated to mist. A great whale dove down from the courtyard’s ceiling, turning gracefully and leaping as if to breach some hidden surface before the clouds unraveled like sea-foam.
Amidst these wonders stood Edmea, surrounded by her small cohort of admirers.
In her arms, a huge, white snake sinuously coiled about her shoulders before melting into the air.
“You,” said Demelza, pointing at Lady Edmea.
Edmea did not turn, but she did remark in an exaggerated whisper: “Careful, ladies. I can’t imagine which is worse, getting your dress or your reputation muddied by proximity to this creature.”
Beside Demelza, Ursula snarled. “Definitely rip out her hair.”
“Surely some wound in her spirit is causing her to react in such a fashion?” said Talvi. She was out of breath from keeping up with Demelza and Ursula. When a cloud mouse scurried toward her, she demolished it with a single exhale and then looked extremely distraught.
“Edmea,” said Demelza.
As she walked farther into the courtyard, she became aware of the remaining contestants’ weighted glances.
Orinthia had smiled at her yesterday. Now she was stony faced.
Zoraya had offered to give her a recipe to nourish her hair after the mud fell off.
Now she seemed preoccupied with a hive of cloudy bees.
Every single one of the contestants—contestants who, as recently as yesterday, had been friendly—must have heard Edmea.
But they did not look in Demelza’s direction.
And they did not speak to her. She felt herself turning translucent and fading into the background.
She had known that feeling all her life, and the thought of turning invisible once more made her heart race and her thoughts jumble.
Edmea turned, looking innocent and shocked. “Are you speaking to me, Demelza?”
“Yes.”
Edmea laughed. “And what could you possibly have to say to me?”
“I don’t take kindly to liars,” said Demelza.
Edmea tilted her head. “And what, pray tell, have I possibly lied about?”
Demelza’s panic hardened. She looked around the room and knew immediately what the others saw: an uncouth girl who did not know how to play this game.
Her face turned hot. Demelza and her sisters always had trouble lying.
It was agony for a veritas swan to lie and whenever Demelza tried, each false word poked her tongue like a hot needle.
If she spoke the truth she would be seen as an overly sensitive and hotheaded fool.
Why was she turning herself into a spectacle?
Because her feelings had been hurt? Because she was terrified of being shunted to irrelevance and invisibility?
What kind of annoyingly earnest reasoning was that?
“I—” Demelza started to say, but Edmea spared her.
“All I said was that the tale of the toad seemed awfully convenient and that perhaps the prince must have some reason for keeping you around. He took pity on you during the talent trial, which, trust me, I can understand why,” said Edmea, smiling.
“But I see no revelation of talent or gifts since then? What I have noticed is that you’re curiously …
not around. And no one has ever seen you in the company of the prince, so perhaps you are here for different reasons.
Are you here to spy on us? To report back to their royal highnesses?
What is your relationship with the prince? ”
“That is a private matter,” said Demelza, hating that she was unable to lie outright. She could salvage this, she told herself. “Love is a private matter.”
“Love,” said Edmea, her voice flat.
Immediately, Demelza knew she had made a misstep. Beside her, Ursula shook her muzzle. Talvi sucked in her breath.
Edmea looked about the room. “She thinks the prince loves her. Well then. My apologies, Demelza.”
Demelza realized her finger was still outstretched. She dropped it. She glanced at the contestants. She had not wanted to be invisible, but she didn’t want to be this either. An object of incredulity.
“I see now that assuming you might be a spy was giving you far too much credit,” said Edmea. “I am certain that time would cure you of such ridiculous fantasies, but I daresay after the second trial, we won’t be seeing much of you.”
As usual, Arris climbed into Demelza’s bedroom once evening fell and the dinner service had concluded. The guardian of the residences had become accustomed to this pattern. In fact, these days it seemed a bit concerned.
“No efforts at youthful mischief? Are you quite all right? At your age, one could not tear me away from the company of nymphs! I used to creep and crawl and sneak out of anything designed to contain me! Your generation is an utterly bloodless lot. I find it deeply concerning.”
As had become his pattern, Arris carried a small satchel that was no doubt safekeeping his latest kitchen experiment. And, as usual, the smell of whatever he had made was nothing short of intoxicating. The only difference was that this time, Demelza had no appetite whatsoever.