complimented Hanit with more than a little wonder in her voice. “I did not know you could do this.”
“You never asked before, grand lady,” Hanit said in a low, deferential tone. Hanit was relatively new to Selinda’s rooms. The pagette had replaced an old and dear friend who had fallen ill and died in the summer plagues a full turning of the seasons past. The curse of this wet city was its plagues. No one could get dry, it seemed, and illness festered in the wet, muddy mess. Even in summer, when the sun baked the mud and made it hard, all it took was a single day of rain for everything to be wet again. Then illness would come in the wake of it.
Selinda did not want to think of death when she was looking at her sun-streaked lips. She wanted for once to act as though there were no troubles in her world. That she was not ugly and burned. That she was not going to marry a vile little worm. That her city might not last long enough for her to inherit.
No. Tonight, all she wanted to think about was a stranger. A man. Someone … different. That was it. He was somehow just … different. Maybe tonight at dinner she would be able to figure out just what that difference was. And then later, after the sun dropped and let night reign, maybe she would speak with him or play games with him or find some way for him to further entertain her. Maybe if he was truly interesting she could convince her father to let him stay on in the castle for a day or two. Not for long. Just … for a little while.
Eager now, she arose from her dressing bench and hurried to the door of her rooms. The pagette opened it as she approached, and Selinda came up short when she saw Jenden Grannish standing in the doorway. For all his leanness of form, he had a presence to him thatcould not be ignored, no matter how hard she might try. It was like a malevolent cloud that darkened her days and nights constantly, one that would not move away no matter how hard she tried to escape it.
“My dear,” he greeted. Then he drew himself up short, his dark eyes narrowing on her with a frightening ferocity. He reached out, his hand like a sudden viper around her arm, his strength unmistakable as he jerked her closer to himself. “What is this?” he hissed into her face. With his free hand, his thumb smeared across her colored lips. “Are you mad? You paint yourself like a brightly colored whore?”
She gasped and tried to push him away before he ruined Hanit’s lovely work. “The highest ladies in this court wear similar!” she protested.
“The highest ladies of this court are not monstrously scarred. I would think you would avoid drawing attention to the fact that you
are
.”
“Stop it,” she cried as he continued to smear his fingers over her lips.
“Off! Remove it this instant! I’ll not have my future bride parading herself around as though she had some sort of beauty to be proud of. Accept what you are, Selinda. Just as I must do my duty as asked by my grand. I have promised to wed you in spite of your deformities, but I will not have you drawing attention to them and making a laughingstock of yourself!”
The whole of his palm smeared across her lips, bruising the flesh both outside and inside, where the sharpness of her teeth cut into the tender skin he was mashing against them. The color, she could feel, was not just being wiped away. He was streaking it over her skin. But when his hand touched the scar at her jaw, she cried out and struck him away, shoving at him with all her strength as tears of shame burned in her eyes. Shefought to keep herself from crying, however, unwilling to give him the satisfaction.
“Very well, I will wash it off!” she spat out.
“I have half a mind to drag you to table looking as you are, like a painted, grisly little doll. Your father would be humiliated and the court would laugh to see such a disgusting sight. But I will spare your father the shame of it. Wash up. I am impatient to go to table. I
“You never asked before, grand lady,” Hanit said in a low, deferential tone. Hanit was relatively new to Selinda’s rooms. The pagette had replaced an old and dear friend who had fallen ill and died in the summer plagues a full turning of the seasons past. The curse of this wet city was its plagues. No one could get dry, it seemed, and illness festered in the wet, muddy mess. Even in summer, when the sun baked the mud and made it hard, all it took was a single day of rain for everything to be wet again. Then illness would come in the wake of it.
Selinda did not want to think of death when she was looking at her sun-streaked lips. She wanted for once to act as though there were no troubles in her world. That she was not ugly and burned. That she was not going to marry a vile little worm. That her city might not last long enough for her to inherit.
No. Tonight, all she wanted to think about was a stranger. A man. Someone … different. That was it. He was somehow just … different. Maybe tonight at dinner she would be able to figure out just what that difference was. And then later, after the sun dropped and let night reign, maybe she would speak with him or play games with him or find some way for him to further entertain her. Maybe if he was truly interesting she could convince her father to let him stay on in the castle for a day or two. Not for long. Just … for a little while.
Eager now, she arose from her dressing bench and hurried to the door of her rooms. The pagette opened it as she approached, and Selinda came up short when she saw Jenden Grannish standing in the doorway. For all his leanness of form, he had a presence to him thatcould not be ignored, no matter how hard she might try. It was like a malevolent cloud that darkened her days and nights constantly, one that would not move away no matter how hard she tried to escape it.
“My dear,” he greeted. Then he drew himself up short, his dark eyes narrowing on her with a frightening ferocity. He reached out, his hand like a sudden viper around her arm, his strength unmistakable as he jerked her closer to himself. “What is this?” he hissed into her face. With his free hand, his thumb smeared across her colored lips. “Are you mad? You paint yourself like a brightly colored whore?”
She gasped and tried to push him away before he ruined Hanit’s lovely work. “The highest ladies in this court wear similar!” she protested.
“The highest ladies of this court are not monstrously scarred. I would think you would avoid drawing attention to the fact that you
are
.”
“Stop it,” she cried as he continued to smear his fingers over her lips.
“Off! Remove it this instant! I’ll not have my future bride parading herself around as though she had some sort of beauty to be proud of. Accept what you are, Selinda. Just as I must do my duty as asked by my grand. I have promised to wed you in spite of your deformities, but I will not have you drawing attention to them and making a laughingstock of yourself!”
The whole of his palm smeared across her lips, bruising the flesh both outside and inside, where the sharpness of her teeth cut into the tender skin he was mashing against them. The color, she could feel, was not just being wiped away. He was streaking it over her skin. But when his hand touched the scar at her jaw, she cried out and struck him away, shoving at him with all her strength as tears of shame burned in her eyes. Shefought to keep herself from crying, however, unwilling to give him the satisfaction.
“Very well, I will wash it off!” she spat out.
“I have half a mind to drag you to table looking as you are, like a painted, grisly little doll. Your father would be humiliated and the court would laugh to see such a disgusting sight. But I will spare your father the shame of it. Wash up. I am impatient to go to table. I