CHAPTER 6 #3
I clutched my hands beneath the folds of my skirt. If my knuckles were visible, they would be white as bone. Creator save me, not another fucking trial.
“What does that involve?” I asked, though there was nothing on Jaeda I wanted to do less.
“Kahvrah will show you… Daughter,” he said, and for the first time, kindness laced his tone, “a Riht marriage is a real marriage.”
I froze, not daring to move. I forced my face to relax. Did he know? Had I done something to make him suspect? Breathe. I needed to breathe and think. Choosing each word carefully, I replied, “How could a marriage not be real?”
“Marriages for the Riht are more than a political alliance—they are a match between two people.”
“And yet you said I was only needed to produce—”
“I know what I’ve said,” he snapped. “Listen to me now. In the Riht, the dane and dana lead together. If you want to become one of us, you need to understand this.”
I nodded. I didn’t ask for this.
“Focus on your lessons. Talk to the people. Prepare for your next trial. Think about an occupation.”
Dane was beginning to sound a lot like my father. Lessons I could do. The people might be a lost cause. And the trial? Thinking about that made me want to vomit. “What occupation?” I asked.
“An occupation.”
My expression must have been blank. My mind certainly was.
“A way to spend your time. An expertise to give back to the Riht. Surely, you want to do something useful with your life.”
“I don’t know—” I bit off my last words. Dane already thought me weak enough. “I don’t know what’s expected of me.”
“Very little.” Dane’s face was impassive. There was no sharpness to his statement, only fact.
“Then how am I supposed to know what to do? How do I learn what’s acceptable?”
“What are your skills?”
“I— Nothing you would value.”
“Oh, ho!” Dane’s laugh boomed out of him. “Already adopting a Riht attitude.”
I scowled. I picked up my mug, but it was empty. I set it down and ran my fingers through my tangled curls.
“Think on this.” He stood, so I did the same. Rather than leaving, he loitered for a few moments. The muscles in his jaw jumped. I braced myself for whatever he was struggling to say.
“The dane and dana always rule as a united pair. If one dies, the other leads until it is time to pass on the mantle. You must learn what this means before you can agree.”
I opened my mouth, then closed it. There was nothing for me to say. Things would never get that far.
“I will meet with you weekly,” he added. “There’s much to learn.”
I began to curtsey, but stopped halfway down, scrambling to come up with the right protocol for goodbyes. Is there even one? Before I could work it out, he dipped his head and retreated from the room.
I stood there frozen, as everything Dane said hit me at once.
He expected me to want a true marriage with a man I had never met—a man of brutality and hatred like the dane himself.
He expected me to lead these people like he did, knowing everyone, listening to their complaints, yet accepting their tendencies to raid and conquer.
Even if I were to be extracted before a wedding took place, I would have to prove my sincerity and acceptance of these people.
How could I ever do either of these things? And what about Tam, waiting for me while I—Martyrs, what did I expect to do when Eldreth returned?
This was nothing like the life my mother led as head of home, or the lessons I’d learned to prepare me for a marriage to a lord’s son.
I certainly never learned anything about leading from my father.
Unless I counted his skills in leading people on.
Even my mathematical and bookkeeping skills would amount to nothing here.
I would’ve been better off studying subterfuge and hand-to-hand combat, neither of which would be practical nor allowed at home.
On top of that, I could never condone the slaughter of the helpless towns these Rihtlonders conquered.
I could barely keep a straight face when the topic arose. Martyrs above, I’m going to need help.
The weight of my isolation pressed in on me.
Leaving the room at a half-run, I searched for my only confidant in all this accursed land.
Gerta alone understood this pampered torture I’d been trapped in.
Despite being the daughter of a margrave and honored by the king himself to fulfill this duty, I was just as caged as any animal—golden bars and all.
My stomach turned as I twisted the door handle to our room, which proved to be equally empty.
“Where in the blazes…”
I returned to the training rooms, throwing open the first door.
Gerta stood in the middle of the small space.
Kahvrah stood far too close to her, their faces inches apart.
For a moment, she looked like she was caressing Gerta’s cheek, but instead she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
She stepped back and appraised her work.
“Braiding,” Kahvrah said.
Gerta’s usual bun had been replaced by a long plait that fell down her back.
The intricate braid woven through her shiny, brunette locks was unlike any I’d seen.
A soft smile played across Kahvrah’s lips, but it faded when her gaze met mine.
My eyes flicked between them as curiosity replaced my self-pity.
“This afternoon,” Kahvrah continued, “we learn proper Riht hairstyles. The braids you can wear, and those you cannot.”
“You have restricted hairstyles?” I raised an eyebrow, glancing at Gerta to exchange smirks, but she avoided my gaze. Her face was bright red.
“Not restricted, no. Braids have meanings in the Riht, just as your hairstyles do in Inra. You must learn the difference.”
“Our hair doesn’t mean anything.”
“No? Then tell me, why have you not worn your hair up once since you arrived, as Gerta does?”
I drew back, and heat rushed to my cheeks. She was right—my hair might be pinned up, but it was never tied up in a tight bun like Gerta and the other servants’. I’d never even considered this difference in our stations, yet Kahvrah had seen it right away. Martyrs, how had I never noticed that?
“Indeed. Now, please show me whatever braids you already know.” She motioned toward my rusty, red locks.
My assumption that braids could only have two or three strands turned out to be very wrong.
Kahvrah demonstrated braids with up to seven strands, as well as several ways smaller and larger braids could be intertwined.
She also demonstrated which were for children versus adults.
By the end of the evening, I could see the logic behind the distinctions—with simpler braids or ones tied up in loops meant for youngsters at play.
As interested as I was in this new language of hair, it was nothing compared to Gerta. She held a hunger in her eyes with each new braid. Perhaps she planned to bring the unique styles back home. Lady’s maids with special hair styling skills were highly sought after, according to Mother.
“Go on ahead,” Gerta said at the end of the lesson. “I have a few questions to help me with braiding your hair. I’ll be along shortly.”
I nodded and left her to it. I wound through the twisting halls back to our room, where a letter sealed with my family crest lay on the small table.
I froze, staring at the rose and dragon emblem while my heart raced.
Then, I snatched it up, tore open the wax, and read.
The letter was in plain Inraen, except for one hidden line written in our secret code—Focus on their military strength and the layout of the city.