04-26-2016, 11:22 AM
A kiss is not a contract
The first hours of dawn were Besra’s favorite. For others, waking meant leaving the dream world behind. For her, it means waking to the real world just before everyone else gets to muck it up. Those hours, still and breathless with a rhythm and tranquility of their own are not like the rest of the day. It seems that no one is present in the hushed blueness of the morning, all the earth is peaceful and as it should be. For a brief second, if she closed her eyes, she could believe that she was utterly alone in the vast universe... What a thought.
But those moments are only figments, tiny shards of stolen jewels like memories that she stores away for different times when the world around her seems so chaotic and cruel. There is mother and father to think of, her newborn sister and the pups, the breeding bitches that must be fed and exercised, the male sires to prep for inspection and train for hunting. All of this with common house chores, cooking, mending, sewing, schoolwork. The last of these is a pleasured gift all in its own - though not exactly poor, her parents were less than capable of sending her away to find a trade. With what she saved by selling her own pastries at the market, Besra in turn managed to buy dust-ridden, older tomes and more than often ill-abused stories.
Her mind, like the winding hunting trails in the forest at their cabin’s back, expands beyond the tiny town nestled within Illea. It dreams of distant cities and untold glory, even as she packs her wares for today’s market and kisses her baby sister’s silky forehead good-bye. Her thoughts consume her, shroud her otherwise sharp mind in a hazy reverie as she treads the wide road to town and waves to those traveling around her. Even when she enters the city walls and greets old acquaintances, drops her fresh deliveries at the bakers and turns the corner to head to the tailors.
“Mind somewhere else today love?” Rury, the tailor’s son spoke, snapping her from her otherworldly fancies and bringing her to the present. Besra laughs, chiding him softly for the affectionate label. “Is it that obvious?” She asks, circling around the shop to trail her fingers over the fine silk and soft velvet. “I could see it a mile away, just like that hair o’ yours. Pale as milk and shimmering gold in the sunlight, to match them pretty freckles.” He teases, leaning over the counter to shoot her a wink. Besra laughs, rushing forward to swat at the gangly youth only to catch air. It was a game they’d played since they were little and Besra’s mother had brought her in for a gown fitting. Rury had asked her then when they’d be married, and he’d never stopped since.
“Got your thoughts in a knot over the announcement, eh?” Rury asked casually, nimble fingers reaching into her basket to swipe a single pastry that she always brought for him. “Truthfully I’d forgotten it.” Besra replies, eyes rolling away from him as if to brush off the notion. There - pinned to the doorframe - is the flyer. The time reads noon and without thinking, her eyes dart to the window to check the sun’s angle. “Cheeky bird. I see you.” Rury admonishes, tugging her hair gently before moving away to sort through stacks of orders. “Won’t you come?” Besra pleads, elbows resting flatly against the wooden counter as her eyes grow round and haunting like she’d seen the hounds do when they begged for scraps.
“Oh no missy, there’ll be no distractin’ me. We’ll be busy with all the foot traffic from this gathering of squawking chickens and Pa needs all the help he can get. Which is me alone.” He replies, shaking his tousled head in protest at her efforts. With a defeated sigh Besra gives, knowing better than to argue or steal away the opportunity for money. Taxes had risen substantially throughout the kingdom lately and times had grown a little tougher for everyone, even the busy little tailor shop. “Fine. I submit. But if you won’t come with me now, can you promise to come by the cabin later so that we can talk about it? You never visit anymore and Mother and Father are feeling a bit slighted, as is Rosy.” She tells him, her tone taking a curt note. Rosy had been Rury’s favorite pup when she was born, He’d even named her and taken time to rear her up and in return, Besra’s father had kept her as a pet, something that was usually strictly against business rules. The lanky boy straightened, vivid green eyes sharpening as he spoke to her, “Of course I will. I’m sorry, you know. About the absence. I’m almost ready to partner with Father and it’s takin’ up most of my time. But I’ll borrow the horse and ride out tomorrow if it suits you.”
Besra smiles and all transgressions seem to be forgotten between them in the moment. With a hug and a new, pale blue ribbon to braid into her hair she sweeps out of the shop and into the commotion of the streets, caught up in the pulsing throng of elbows, torsos and faces. Someone’s speaking to her but she can’t be bothered to listen to the buzzing negativity because up ahead Besra can spot the oaken podium and yes! There he is! A courtier with a paunch and the air of higher living has descended onto the stage and a hush lulls over the crowd.
“By royal decree…” He begins, and with each word that falls from his lips Besra can feel the thrumming of her heart grow louder and louder until it drowns out even his voice. “One loyal subject.” She thinks, and the words sink into her gut, into her heart, into her mind, where they sprout and grow until their roots are thick and impermeable. “It could be anyone …” She muses silently, pale blue eyes darting around as she notices the mild hysteria of the girls around her. So many, many beautiful faces. Each one different from the last. “It could be me.” She decides finally, after the crowd has somewhat dispersed.
With her hand to lift her skirts she finally moves from her spot, thoughtlessly heading for the town centre where she waits in line at the Ambassador’s booth, finally coming to the front when the day has begun to wear off and she’s sure they won’t get an accurate sketch in the falling light. But the artist she’s given is an older man, who sits her facing the sun’s glow and smiles wordlessly when he shows her the finished product: complete with a golden halo of Apollo’s rays. Besra is breathless on her journey home, making up for lost time in an effort to beat the coming dark. When finally she is safe with her family and her story is told, all of it seems so unreal that she struggles to fall asleep.
---------------------------
Rury comes the next day, as he’d promised. For once, he’s quiet, moving around her in wordless circles. They visit Rosy, now and then commenting on trivial things like the weather, or how the game was looking this particular season. Besra knows what this is about yet she refuses to touch the subject. She’d known him far too long to push him. Rury would open up to her when he felt it. It wasn’t until the sun sank amid the canopies of the trees and she was left to pack his saddle with parting gifts that his wide palm falls over hers, tenderly wrapping her fingers in his own before he pulls her away to look at her. “Please, Besra, tell me you didn’t.” He asks, voice low in the quiet evening. She cannot lie and she cannot bring herself to hurt him, so instead she looks away - to the dogs, to the forest, to the darkness beyond. When she looks back his eyes are closed, but his hand is still holding hers. “I had plans, ya know. Of taking over the business, savin’ up, takin’ you away wherever you wanted to go.” He whispers, pressing her hand over his heart so that she might feel it break.
“Rury, please … “ She gently pleads, but he loosens his hold and swings into the saddle, turning the horse about. “Don’t.” He spits, the angriest she’s ever seen her beloved tailor boy. His hands draw in the reins and he clenches his jaw, refusing to see her. ”You’re a selfish, silly girl to think they’ll ever choose you.” He says in parting, digging his heels into the mount before leaping forward to escape on the road home.
For the first time in a long time Besra watches him go, azure eyes blurring his receding form as they fill with tears.
-
A week passes. The letter comes: she’s been accepted. Mother packs her things. Father says he’ll grow thin without her cooking. Her baby sister seems more precious now than she has ever been. They all mean so much to her but only one goodbye would mean more than the rest. When the day arrives and she waits by the road in her sky blue cloak, carpetbag at her feet, he finally comes, trotting up the dusty path with a brown parcel underneath his arm. He cannot speak, and Besra won’t for fear that she’ll cry. “For you,” He says, pressing the gift into her arms as a silver carriage descends to her home. “you’ll knock them right off their high horses in it.”
“Write me.” She begs, clinging to his hands one last time before her ride pulls to a stop. He only nods, turning to watch her hurry away in a flutter of fabric and wild, blonde hair. Besra does not look back. The door latches shut and then the team is off, jolting her body against the cushioned sides and for the first time in her life, Besra understands what is it to miss home.
She’s not alone. Three other girls already sit with her, various goods crowding the space. They are all silent on the journey, whether it be from arrogant disdain or genuine fear, but Besra prefers the silence. They travel through the city, past the onlookers and streets she’d walked forever, past the bakers and the tailors where the lights were still dim inside. They ingress until they pass beneath the mighty portcullis and breeze through the gilded iron gates, circling to stop in a row of other similar carriages before halting and unpacking their things.
There seem to be so many girls gathered around now, all of them giggling or whispering in the excited energy that surrounds them. A woman, elderly and rather uptight, descends the main walkway and claps for their attention. “If you’ll follow me please! Ladies! Single line, control yourselves, and remember, try not to act like commonfolk and keep your hands to yourselves!” She chips through her nose, turning once more to head through the castle, girls thronging around her like cattle.
The day is already late and they’ve got no time to tour, only enough time to be numbered off into groups and sent to their respective quarters. For now, the girls would all share gathering rooms. Besra had been sent to the ballroom, where beds of matching stature had been lined up against either wall and fitted with a chest at the foot. Hers, luckily, was by a window, where she could gaze out at the twist of gardens and watch as the night fell over the palace grounds. Around her the other girls grew increasingly silent, each one donning her sleeping gown or fiddling with her hair before slipping into bed.
But Besra, who had never before slept alone or in a bed of her own with such fine quality, did not meet sleep easily. Instead, she waited for morning with racing thoughts, eyes following the patterns on the ceiling as the strange quiet hour of the night descended around her. Yes - she’d left behind home, the pups, even Rury. Yet when the morning came, as it always did, it would be indescribably different this time. Just as she had dreamed so many times before, at last, Besra’s journey beyond her small town had finally come true.
But those moments are only figments, tiny shards of stolen jewels like memories that she stores away for different times when the world around her seems so chaotic and cruel. There is mother and father to think of, her newborn sister and the pups, the breeding bitches that must be fed and exercised, the male sires to prep for inspection and train for hunting. All of this with common house chores, cooking, mending, sewing, schoolwork. The last of these is a pleasured gift all in its own - though not exactly poor, her parents were less than capable of sending her away to find a trade. With what she saved by selling her own pastries at the market, Besra in turn managed to buy dust-ridden, older tomes and more than often ill-abused stories.
Her mind, like the winding hunting trails in the forest at their cabin’s back, expands beyond the tiny town nestled within Illea. It dreams of distant cities and untold glory, even as she packs her wares for today’s market and kisses her baby sister’s silky forehead good-bye. Her thoughts consume her, shroud her otherwise sharp mind in a hazy reverie as she treads the wide road to town and waves to those traveling around her. Even when she enters the city walls and greets old acquaintances, drops her fresh deliveries at the bakers and turns the corner to head to the tailors.
“Mind somewhere else today love?” Rury, the tailor’s son spoke, snapping her from her otherworldly fancies and bringing her to the present. Besra laughs, chiding him softly for the affectionate label. “Is it that obvious?” She asks, circling around the shop to trail her fingers over the fine silk and soft velvet. “I could see it a mile away, just like that hair o’ yours. Pale as milk and shimmering gold in the sunlight, to match them pretty freckles.” He teases, leaning over the counter to shoot her a wink. Besra laughs, rushing forward to swat at the gangly youth only to catch air. It was a game they’d played since they were little and Besra’s mother had brought her in for a gown fitting. Rury had asked her then when they’d be married, and he’d never stopped since.
“Got your thoughts in a knot over the announcement, eh?” Rury asked casually, nimble fingers reaching into her basket to swipe a single pastry that she always brought for him. “Truthfully I’d forgotten it.” Besra replies, eyes rolling away from him as if to brush off the notion. There - pinned to the doorframe - is the flyer. The time reads noon and without thinking, her eyes dart to the window to check the sun’s angle. “Cheeky bird. I see you.” Rury admonishes, tugging her hair gently before moving away to sort through stacks of orders. “Won’t you come?” Besra pleads, elbows resting flatly against the wooden counter as her eyes grow round and haunting like she’d seen the hounds do when they begged for scraps.
“Oh no missy, there’ll be no distractin’ me. We’ll be busy with all the foot traffic from this gathering of squawking chickens and Pa needs all the help he can get. Which is me alone.” He replies, shaking his tousled head in protest at her efforts. With a defeated sigh Besra gives, knowing better than to argue or steal away the opportunity for money. Taxes had risen substantially throughout the kingdom lately and times had grown a little tougher for everyone, even the busy little tailor shop. “Fine. I submit. But if you won’t come with me now, can you promise to come by the cabin later so that we can talk about it? You never visit anymore and Mother and Father are feeling a bit slighted, as is Rosy.” She tells him, her tone taking a curt note. Rosy had been Rury’s favorite pup when she was born, He’d even named her and taken time to rear her up and in return, Besra’s father had kept her as a pet, something that was usually strictly against business rules. The lanky boy straightened, vivid green eyes sharpening as he spoke to her, “Of course I will. I’m sorry, you know. About the absence. I’m almost ready to partner with Father and it’s takin’ up most of my time. But I’ll borrow the horse and ride out tomorrow if it suits you.”
Besra smiles and all transgressions seem to be forgotten between them in the moment. With a hug and a new, pale blue ribbon to braid into her hair she sweeps out of the shop and into the commotion of the streets, caught up in the pulsing throng of elbows, torsos and faces. Someone’s speaking to her but she can’t be bothered to listen to the buzzing negativity because up ahead Besra can spot the oaken podium and yes! There he is! A courtier with a paunch and the air of higher living has descended onto the stage and a hush lulls over the crowd.
“By royal decree…” He begins, and with each word that falls from his lips Besra can feel the thrumming of her heart grow louder and louder until it drowns out even his voice. “One loyal subject.” She thinks, and the words sink into her gut, into her heart, into her mind, where they sprout and grow until their roots are thick and impermeable. “It could be anyone …” She muses silently, pale blue eyes darting around as she notices the mild hysteria of the girls around her. So many, many beautiful faces. Each one different from the last. “It could be me.” She decides finally, after the crowd has somewhat dispersed.
With her hand to lift her skirts she finally moves from her spot, thoughtlessly heading for the town centre where she waits in line at the Ambassador’s booth, finally coming to the front when the day has begun to wear off and she’s sure they won’t get an accurate sketch in the falling light. But the artist she’s given is an older man, who sits her facing the sun’s glow and smiles wordlessly when he shows her the finished product: complete with a golden halo of Apollo’s rays. Besra is breathless on her journey home, making up for lost time in an effort to beat the coming dark. When finally she is safe with her family and her story is told, all of it seems so unreal that she struggles to fall asleep.
---------------------------
Rury comes the next day, as he’d promised. For once, he’s quiet, moving around her in wordless circles. They visit Rosy, now and then commenting on trivial things like the weather, or how the game was looking this particular season. Besra knows what this is about yet she refuses to touch the subject. She’d known him far too long to push him. Rury would open up to her when he felt it. It wasn’t until the sun sank amid the canopies of the trees and she was left to pack his saddle with parting gifts that his wide palm falls over hers, tenderly wrapping her fingers in his own before he pulls her away to look at her. “Please, Besra, tell me you didn’t.” He asks, voice low in the quiet evening. She cannot lie and she cannot bring herself to hurt him, so instead she looks away - to the dogs, to the forest, to the darkness beyond. When she looks back his eyes are closed, but his hand is still holding hers. “I had plans, ya know. Of taking over the business, savin’ up, takin’ you away wherever you wanted to go.” He whispers, pressing her hand over his heart so that she might feel it break.
“Rury, please … “ She gently pleads, but he loosens his hold and swings into the saddle, turning the horse about. “Don’t.” He spits, the angriest she’s ever seen her beloved tailor boy. His hands draw in the reins and he clenches his jaw, refusing to see her. ”You’re a selfish, silly girl to think they’ll ever choose you.” He says in parting, digging his heels into the mount before leaping forward to escape on the road home.
For the first time in a long time Besra watches him go, azure eyes blurring his receding form as they fill with tears.
-
A week passes. The letter comes: she’s been accepted. Mother packs her things. Father says he’ll grow thin without her cooking. Her baby sister seems more precious now than she has ever been. They all mean so much to her but only one goodbye would mean more than the rest. When the day arrives and she waits by the road in her sky blue cloak, carpetbag at her feet, he finally comes, trotting up the dusty path with a brown parcel underneath his arm. He cannot speak, and Besra won’t for fear that she’ll cry. “For you,” He says, pressing the gift into her arms as a silver carriage descends to her home. “you’ll knock them right off their high horses in it.”
“Write me.” She begs, clinging to his hands one last time before her ride pulls to a stop. He only nods, turning to watch her hurry away in a flutter of fabric and wild, blonde hair. Besra does not look back. The door latches shut and then the team is off, jolting her body against the cushioned sides and for the first time in her life, Besra understands what is it to miss home.
She’s not alone. Three other girls already sit with her, various goods crowding the space. They are all silent on the journey, whether it be from arrogant disdain or genuine fear, but Besra prefers the silence. They travel through the city, past the onlookers and streets she’d walked forever, past the bakers and the tailors where the lights were still dim inside. They ingress until they pass beneath the mighty portcullis and breeze through the gilded iron gates, circling to stop in a row of other similar carriages before halting and unpacking their things.
There seem to be so many girls gathered around now, all of them giggling or whispering in the excited energy that surrounds them. A woman, elderly and rather uptight, descends the main walkway and claps for their attention. “If you’ll follow me please! Ladies! Single line, control yourselves, and remember, try not to act like commonfolk and keep your hands to yourselves!” She chips through her nose, turning once more to head through the castle, girls thronging around her like cattle.
The day is already late and they’ve got no time to tour, only enough time to be numbered off into groups and sent to their respective quarters. For now, the girls would all share gathering rooms. Besra had been sent to the ballroom, where beds of matching stature had been lined up against either wall and fitted with a chest at the foot. Hers, luckily, was by a window, where she could gaze out at the twist of gardens and watch as the night fell over the palace grounds. Around her the other girls grew increasingly silent, each one donning her sleeping gown or fiddling with her hair before slipping into bed.
But Besra, who had never before slept alone or in a bed of her own with such fine quality, did not meet sleep easily. Instead, she waited for morning with racing thoughts, eyes following the patterns on the ceiling as the strange quiet hour of the night descended around her. Yes - she’d left behind home, the pups, even Rury. Yet when the morning came, as it always did, it would be indescribably different this time. Just as she had dreamed so many times before, at last, Besra’s journey beyond her small town had finally come true.
ooc: ... it's a novel.