November 29, 1253 After Parretoa

Something had changed.
The long summer, which had stretched well into autumn, had finally come to an end. Outside, the warm, dry air had given way to a chilly, damp mist. Life had moved indoors when the rain began, and although only recently the nights had still been muggy and oppressive, the first frost had now set in.

But that wasn’t what unsettled Elda. It was the way eyes followed her when she passed. The way conversations died when she entered a room, only to be met with forced smiles and rehearsed politeness.

Yes, something had changed. She had felt it that morning when she left her chambers on the way to the classroom. For the second time that week, she had lost track of time and rushed out. Outside her door, she ran into two ladies of the court, deep in conversation. Elda caught parts of what they were saying.

“Do you really think he would do that?” said the first woman.

“I heard it myself,” said the second. “And do you know what he plans to do with her?”

“No, tell me!”

“Well, I heard—”

The moment the women noticed Elda’s presence, they abruptly stopped and fell silent, as if they had been caught speaking about something forbidden. Her heart began to race as the ladies looked at her. Elda felt small beneath their scrutinizing gazes. She looked back at them, trying to read their expressions. Had she done something wrong? Were they angry? Did they pity her? She could almost hear their thoughts: “Oh, just look at that hopeless girl.”

For a moment, she stood there frozen, waiting for a reaction. The ladies did the same, then, without saying a word, they walked around her in a wide arc and continued down the corridor.

After letting the moment sink in, Elda hurried on her way. She ran a hand through her hair in a futile attempt to fix it and muttered different excuses for her delay under her breath. The idea of blaming the court ladies outside her room crossed her mind, but she quickly dismissed it, there was no way that would work. She descended a spiral staircase and crossed the gallery toward the dining hall. Her footsteps echoed through the empty corridor, and she was relieved not to run into anyone.

At last, she reached the entrance to the classroom. She stepped through the door and almost bumped into Mistress Merinda. The woman looked at her, first with a familiar frown that quickly turned into a less familiar smile.

“Good morning, my dear child,” she said kindly.

Elda had braced herself for many things, but not for that. Why was the mistress speaking to her in such a gentle tone? Normally, she seized every opportunity to remind Elda that “a young lady of Arnallan values punctuality,” and that it would “do her credit to make more of an effort to be on time.” She also often made a point of reminding Elda that a proper young lady does not rush, breathes calmly, and stands up straight. If she didn’t mention those, she would still find fault with Elda’s cutlery, her choice of words, her pace of speech, her wrinkled dress, unbrushed hair, or any number of other things.

What the mistress rarely did, however, was greet her with a smile. And even less often did she call her “my dear child.”

Her green eyes widened in shock as she looked at the mistress. Not knowing what to say, she fell back on her usual response.
“I’m sorry, Mistress Merinda.”

“That’s quite all right, Elda. Come in now. You missed breakfast, but I had a plate saved for you. It will be brought here shortly.”

As soon as she spoke the words, her expression changed; the unusual warmth in her eyes hardened again. She picked up a hairbrush and pushed it into Elda’s hand.

“Brush your hair, it’s a mess. Once you’ve done that, we can begin your lessons.”

As Elda accepted the brush, the mistress crossed to the other side of the room. The classroom wasn’t large and was lit by two tall windows framed with red velvet curtains. The stone tiles were covered by an old, worn rug that had seen generations of young girls grow into ladies of the court, like Merinda. On the wall hung a painting of the Arnallan fields, and a genealogy of the duke’s family. Elda wondered whether it was updated whenever a new family member was born, or if the painter had to watch his hard work disappear and start all over again.

Opposite the windows, a large mirror had been mounted on the wall, in which Elda could see herself. Her long brown curls hung loose, and indeed, they were a tangled mess. She raised the brush to her hair and began to tidy it. Rhythmically, the bristles slid through her hair, grazing her scalp, and slowly her gaze drifted from her hair to her dress.

The dress she wore today was new, and she was quite pleased with it. It was made of fine emerald-green wool, with long sleeves that draped gracefully along her arms. The lower sleeves were of ivory-colored cotton, fastened with silver buttons. The hem was trimmed with subtle embroidery of golden and silver flowers. She turned slightly to get a better look at the gown, and as she did, the skirt followed in flowing waves.

Elda was apparently too deep in thought, for the mistress gave an impatient cough and asked whether she needed help. She quickly finished brushing and walked over to Merinda, who roughly pulled her hair back and began tying it into a respectable bun with a ribbon. As she worked, she launched into a stream of instructions.

“You are a young lady, Elda. It’s time you started acting like one.” Now Elda recognized her mistress again. She rolled her eyes while Merinda continued.

“You were late for breakfast, and it’s obvious you weren’t getting ready for class. I thought you had brushed your hair. It’s still full of tangles. Well, it’ll have to do. Go stand next to the mirror and show me your posture.”

She gave Elda a light shove in the back. Elda moved to the indicated spot and assumed the proper posture, upright, like a lady. She glanced sideways briefly to see if she was doing it correctly.

“Eyes forward,” Merinda snapped, and Elda turned her head back. “And don’t look so miserable, girl. How many times have we practiced this posture? I’d think you’d have mastered it by now. Come on. Back straight, shoulders back, chin up. Like—”

“You own the world,” Elda finished the sentence. “Yes, I know.”

“Then do it properly!”

“I am doing it, aren’t I?”

“If you were, I wouldn’t have to correct you.”

The mistress placed her hands on Elda’s shoulders and pushed them back. It felt completely unnatural to hold them like that, but she decided not to resist. The mistress stepped back and studied her.

“Now look in the mirror. Do you see the difference?”

“Aren’t I supposed to look straight ahead?” The regret hit her the moment she said it.

“Oh, child, don’t be so childish.”

“But I am a child.” She couldn’t help it. She felt her cheeks flush bright red. Oh, she could have kicked herself.

The mistress didn’t respond immediately, and somehow that worried Elda more than if she’d snapped. Elda decided she would apologize. She would go out into the garden and pick flowers. She’d arrange them into a beautiful bouquet and present it to the mistress, saying she’d never misbehave again. She knew it was nonsense, but she’d say it anyway. The mistress would accept the bouquet with a nod and hand it off to a servant. That’s how it had gone the last time, after all.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the mistress’s voice.

“Look in the mirror, or don’t,” said Mistress Merinda, sounding tired. “Either way, remember this posture. The way you're standing now is correct. Or at least, good enough.”

Elda turned her head and looked at herself. The posture felt awkward, but she couldn’t deny the mistress was right. As she gazed at her reflection, she felt elegant, dignified, like a true duchess. Her eyes drifted once more to the dress, and she shifted her hips to make the skirt ripple. The sight gave her a warm feeling, and a smile formed on her lips. For a moment, she just stood there until Mistress Merinda sighed.

“Elda, do you remember the questions we went over last time?”

Elda turned to her mistress but struggled to pull her gaze away from the mirror. “Yes, mistress,” she said. “I think I remember them.”

“You think you remember them, or you do?” asked Merinda, her voice lightly trembling with irritation. Before Elda could reply, the mistress threw up her hands.

“Oh, never mind. Let’s sit down and see what you do remember.”

She took a seat in one of the armchairs in the corner of the room, carefully arranging her dress so it fell neatly. Elda followed her example, lifted her skirt slightly, and sat on the ottoman across from her. Her dress didn’t fall nearly as gracefully as the mistress’s. She folded her hands in her lap and waited.

“Well then,” said the lady of the court, “let’s hear it, what do you remember?”

Elda hesitated and looked down at the floor. She did remember the questions, they weren’t that difficult. There were only three. Or four, she wasn’t entirely sure. She hadn’t paid much attention during the last lesson, simply because she didn’t see the point.

“Mistress,” she said, “I don’t think there’s much use in memorizing those questions.”

Merinda frowned, puzzled by Elda’s response. “What do you mean by that now?”

“Well, I remember the questions, but I just don’t think it’s useful to ask them. The duke never looks at me when I speak. And he usually doesn’t answer either. And if he does, it’s only something short.”

“That doesn’t matter, Elda,” said the mistress sharply. “It’s not about whether you get an answer. It’s about showing the duke that you know how to conduct yourself like a lady.”

“But couldn’t I ask someone else instead? Then I’d still be showing that I can behave like a lady, and at least I’d get an answer.”

It was clear Elda had asked too many questions, because the mistress was now growing impatient and raised her voice. “Elda, that’s not the point. It’s only three questions”—so she had remembered correctly!—“and you will ask them to the duke, whether you like it or not. Sometimes I wonder if you have the faintest idea what kind of position awaits you. Child, you truly have no idea.”

Elda began to feel uneasy and slowly sank into herself. It felt like a knot tightened in her stomach. The mistress was right; she didn’t know what lay ahead. Merinda’s tone sharpened even further: “You’d better put your best foot forward. It won’t be long now before the duke becomes your father-in-law. Then you’ll officially be part of the ducal family, and then…”

She suddenly fell silent and drew a subtle, unsteady breath. Her expression changed. It was a look Elda didn’t quite recognize. She seemed… sad. Or maybe disappointed? It reminded Elda of the way those two ladies of the court had looked at her that morning. It was almost as if the mistress pitied her.

“Oh, Elda,” she said softly, “you really have no idea.”

“No, that’s right,” Elda snapped back. Anger was bubbling up now. She had always felt safe here. Even during the dullest lessons with Mistress Merinda, she could still feel glad to be here. But lately, everyone treated her like she couldn’t do anything right and didn’t belong. And now she’d had enough. “I really have no idea, because no one talks to me anymore, and everyone looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. This morning I stepped out of my room and ran into two ladies of the court. They looked at me the same way you just did. I don’t know what it is, because no one will tell me, but I’m sure something is going on. I’d ask you if you know more, but you probably wouldn’t answer me anyway.”

The mistress looked at Elda for a long moment. Not with anger, but with seriousness. It was almost as though she was considering telling her the truth. Her frown wasn’t the usual disapproving one, it seemed more thoughtful. Elda waited, silent, and then raised an eyebrow, as if daring the mistress to speak. Later, she’d think maybe she shouldn’t have done that, because the woman blinked twice, and her eyes snapped back into their usual stern focus. Yet something about her gaze felt softer than before.

“The duke arrives tomorrow,” Mistress Merinda said coolly. “Everyone has been busy for days preparing for his arrival. The ladies you saw were probably just tired. That’s understandable, with all the chaos these days.”

Elda found the explanation unconvincing. She had also noticed how the mistress’s entire posture shifted the moment the duke was mentioned. Elda wanted to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. Her throat ached and her head felt hot. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to cry, and she was not about to do that in front of the mistress.

At that moment, the door opened. Both Elda and the mistress turned their heads and saw a kitchen maid entering with a plate of breakfast.

“Ah, there’s your food. I think we could use a short break,” said the mistress.

Elda stood up abruptly. Her voice trembled as she said, “No, that’s not necessary. I’m not hungry.” Then she turned and strode toward the exit. As she left the room, she bumped into the kitchen maid, who nearly lost her balance and spilled some of the food from the plate. Elda knew she should apologize, but she didn’t care. Mistress Merinda called after her, but Elda couldn’t even hear what she said anymore.

The mistress was stupid, the kitchen maid was stupid, and everyone who acted in secret was stupid.

Out in the corridor, she started to run, toward her room. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she could barely see where she was going. Now the others would really think she’d lost her mind.

Yes, something had changed. They were trying to hide it from her, but Elda could tell. Everyone seemed to know something, and it was about her.