Arden, the meek and innovative daughter of an Artist-For-Hire hides behind an admiration of her father's works to conceal her own (unencouraged) love of painting. By chance, Arden is discovered by the Queen Elza, a lover of art herself. Arden is whi...
Dusk is near when Arden cleanses the last paintbrush and tucks away her partially finished piece. Yellow paint smudges across her chamise and a bit on her hands. The color of the paint is reminiscent of the colors mingling in the morning sky.
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The attic is returned to normal and Arden has closed herself in her room to refresh herself and ready for the day by the time her mother stirs about the house. Valienta is always the first one awake, or so she thinks.
"I shall be visiting the market today. Arden, please come with me. Indra will be at her lessons and Heyla will home tending the wash. I will need an extra pair of hands. Your father will have to manage painting alone today." Conversations at the breakfast table more closely resemble a war general distributing commands than that of a family planning afternoon logistics.
"I will be ready to leave within an hour if that is convenient?"
"Take Indra to her lessons first and then return home so we can walk together."
The chill of the morning breeze is only just wearing off when the two sisters exit their home. They are instantly greeted by bustling streets and horseshoes clamoring on cobblestone. Merchants, beggars, soldiers, and women all alike hurry from one direction to the next, passing one another by with little regard. In past years, Arden would escort her younger sister to her lessons and it would be a cheerful, connecting experience. As of late, however, the seventeen-year-old has abandoned sisterly camaraderie for the composure of an estranged, grown woman who has her own life and interests to attend to.
"Care to tell me about Bardon?" Arden asks, glancing sideways at her sister, hoping to spark a more giddy conversation about the man that intends to make Indra his wife.
"It isn't ladylike to speak of such things." Indra snaps, clutching her hands in front of her. So unlike her old self, the beautiful girl in a matter of months has transformed herself into a stone cold replica of their mother.
"Well," Arden answers "If you wanted to talk about it with your older sister, I can assure you I am in no way questioning your propriety or ability to be ladylike."
"No," Indra mutters. "Surely not. It takes an understanding of those things to judge them in the first place."
Stricken by the words, Arden presses her lips closed, unable to speak for fear of something unkind escaping. Thus, the two walk in silence, an activity becoming strangely familiar to them. A sense of distance grows between the sisters in the ten minutes it takes to travel to the College of Graces, a school Arden herself managed to be spared but her younger sisters were not. When Arden was of age to attend the College of Graces, her father had not yet made any amount of fortune off his paintings. Valienta mourned that greatly and to this day blames Arden's lack of proper female qualities to her not attending. Arden, on the other hand, has thanked the stars ever since that she was not subjected to societal conditioning. Her own understanding of social appropriation allows her to conduct herself modestly in situations, she never needed schooling to teach her etiquette. As it seems her middle sister does.
