Reidier

3: Araldia

A/N: Apologies, people- I was very stuck on Araldia's PoV. I wrote it once- she sounded too bitter. Then too dark. Tone, tone, tone... However, the next two chapters, in Mella and Astall's PoVs, shall be up slightly sooner. 

I hope I can learn to write Araldia. She's fun to write, but sort of difficult as well. Also, whoever spots(and PMs me) the difference between the Araldia PoV and the other two get a cookie! There is a significant difference, really. 

Without further ado, let's start.

Ivendite House was always quiet, except for one night, every year. That night was the eighth fade- moon of each year; the second fade of spring, when the flowers stood tall, in full bloom, and the frost of winter was completely replaced by the summer heat.

Araldia hated that night. Ivendite House was the domain of the servants- except for that night, because that night is Ivendite’s Day, when Ivendite, the serving girl in the folk-tales, became the wife of a Quis. Not just a Blood, but one that had the city of Reidier in his palm. Of course, back in those days, it had not been Reidier at all. It had been the small area that is now Dansert District.

But the reason why she dreaded Ivendite was because this year, she was fourteen. She is of age to take part in the celebrations. Tonight, she was to enter the Lady Ivendite’s gardens, looking her finest, and let someone take her off into the night. Most of the others didn’t understand her trepidation- after all, the men were custom-bound to be nice and give them something pretty the next day- but who knew what happened behind closed doors at night?

She did not like the celebrations. Ever since Vela went back to her quarters crying two years before, the morning after. Before that, she’d always thought that Ivendite’s Day would be fun. And the other girls always had a competition to see who got the most expensive gifts the next day. Poor Vela had not gotten more than a bottle of cheap wine and a two Sterling note. Scarcely enough to cover the dress she had gotten, which has come back the next day, torn and hanging by threads in places.

She was scared, but Vela told her that the cruel ones always took the little, delicate looking girls. The ones who looked scared. So tonight, though sharply conscious of the breeze brushing her back, clad in a barely-decent red dress, Araldia stood tall and tried to look indifferent.

It was easy enough to tell the stable-hands and butcher-boys from the guardsmen and the other well-off ones. Their clothes marked them. The men who earned more wore silver and brass on their collars and their cuffs. The poor ones couldn’t afford to.

But the rich ones looked so scary. They downed shot after shot of drink, and scanned the room hungrily, taking in scantily clad flesh. They looked as though they would eat the girls in the room.

She also saw that she was not the only cautious one. A few others were watching them warily.

Then there were the flirts, Gwenys, Seculante, and Jasie. They had wide smiles and very bright lips, and their dresses were even shorter than hers, which barely covered her shins. It was said that they had never spend a night in their own beds since fourteen. Most of the other girls avoided them like the plague and shot them looks of disdain, but Araldia found them alright. They laughed at absolutely everything, including themselves and their suitors, and they were kind. The three were best of friends and confided in each other for absolutely everything. They were the bravest people she knew. She herself wouldn’t be able to shoulder the shame that people heaped onto their shoulders every day.

If only she could find that kind of confidence. She might have enjoyed this.

She nibbled at the biscuits they had set out in preparation. While she had been told that there was food, she wasn’t told that it was just watered down scones, some shriveled-looking fruit and hard biscuits. Her stomach growled. She wished she was at home, having Ma’s bacon-and-carrot soup. Just the thought of the thick, creamy stuff had her mouth watering.