Songbird

Ch 5

The next three weeks are among the most frustrating of my entire life.

My Grandmother had been avoiding me for some time. Bae and Lady Alexandria continue to stay in our fief, meaning that I hadn’t scared scared them off as well as I hoped I would. In fact, Lady Alexandria and my Grandmother seem to be meeting every day for at least three hours.

I wonder if they’re having fun planning my wedding.

I saw the invitation a week ago. She sent it to everyone she’s ever shared a word with, so I’m sure that I’ll be a stranger at my own event. It’s set the same day as my 16th birthday. I can almost hear Grandmother’s  candied justification.

Wren will become a woman the same day she will become a wife.

The thought sickens me. The whole idea of marrying a boy I don’t know while I’m still so young disgusts me. That’s why I took it upon myself to single-handedly destroy the wedding. First, I evade Bae at all costs. My Grandmother might change her mind if she sees that we’re simply not meant to be. Even when I do cross paths with Bae, I’m sure to make a scene. Recently, I yelled at him for stepping on the hem of my dress when I saw him in the garden… even though we were on opposite sides of the pond.

When I see no change in plans, I use more extreme methods. I pay the stable boy to set fire to the guest house. I know that he will never go through with it because he’s a liar and just wants payment, but I’ve never seen a rumor travel as fast as it does through the maid’s circuit. I send a message. The same day as I make the request, I hear that Lady Alexandria and Bae have been invited to stay in the castle until the wedding. My message is ignored.

Nothing halts the rapid progression of my marriage. In a last desperate attempt to stop it, I refuse to get myself tailored for a wedding dress. Even when the seamstress comes to the study and insists that I get my measurements taken, I very rudely tell her to get lost.

That sends my Grandmother into a rage.

You’re getting married if you have to walk down that aisle in your nightgown.

On an equally depressing note, I still have to go to Latin lessons. I despise them. In my meantime, I dedicate myself to learning as much Latin I can on my own so I can stop tutor visits as fast as possible.

My Latin teacher is impressed with my light-speed learning of the language, but he didn’t dare stop the lessons. I suppose that either he thinks it is too good to be true, that I can’t be some sort of lingual genius, or this is his best paying job. In reality, I know it was a mixture of the two.

And the headaches have become a new type of unbearable. While it is immensely helpful to have an instant background on everyone I come across, the pain is more than a small price to pay. What’s worse,  I’ve started hearing voices in my head.

I think I’m reading people’s minds.

I pass the butler in the hall and hear him call his job mundane even though I’ve never heard him speak unless spoken to.

The maid is dusting in the study when I swear that I hear her remark that my dress is hideous. She never lashed out before, so it was highly unlikely that she would directly insult me out of the blue. Even if it was the ugliest dress I’ve ever worn.

What’s worse, I can’t practice archery because my Grandmother is watching me. Every move I make, I’m sure she’s getting a detailed report of it.

I’m beginning to hate life at my fief.