Bride of Kalathan

1: The Letter

Nuria never forgot the day the letter arrived. It was winter, the snow thick on the ground outside, the afternoon beginning to turn into evening. There was a big, comfortable fire in the huge grate and Father was not happy at having to get up from his armchair to greet the man at the door. She remembered the messenger in his red turban and silver-tasselled livery under his thick fur wraps, his nose red with cold, bowing as he held the intricately carved box out to father. She remembered Father's face, as he took the letter out of the box and handed it back, his wide eyes as he read it, the paper fluttering in his shaking hand. She remembered the messenger riding away into the cold down the long, cobbled drive, and feeling sorry for him outside on a horse in the bitter wind. She had shivered in her fur-trimmed jacket and pretty new kid-leather slippers and watched Father's face, waiting patiently for him to tell her what it said. She had not guessed the truth.

She only found out later that evening, after dinner, as the family gathered in the parlour. When the servants had brought the evening coffee, when the estate manager had brought his daily report, when her older brother Nairan had stretched out his long legs towards the warmth of the fire and her mother was sitting quietly with the cat in her lap, Father took out the letter and read it to them, sounding as if he was choking with pride.

"I am overwhelmed, daughter," he said, tears in his eyes as he finished and placed the letter in pride of place above the fireplace, right under the enormous gleaming ceremonial sword that hung, horizontally, on the wall. "I am so proud of my beautiful girl."

"It must have been Lord Krevin who recommended her," said Mother, fanning herself with her delicate Mandarian fan, her plump face even more rosy than usual even on this frozen evening. "I am so glad we made sure she spent time at the house with us when he was here, and that I organised her new clothes. That style with the high neck and the narrow sleeves suits her so well, doesn't it? And you gave her your mother's jewelled headdress to wear on that evening we had dinner with him on the verhanda outside. She was a vision that night, so stylish and grown-up. I can't believe it! Our baby, our Nuria, at the palace!"

Nuria tried to take it in. It was nice, that her parents were proud of her, but she didn't really understand what the letter had meant. "So, I am invited to the palace," she said, cautiously. "For how long?"

"Oh my innocent darling!" cried Mother. "For as long as they want you! You will make friends with the other girls chosen from noble families all over Kalathan and be waited on and entertained as if you were a princess yourself. There will be parties and dances and dinners, and if you aren't engaged to a high nobleman in six months ..." She took a deep breath, fanning herself even more vigorously than before.

"Engaged?" Nuria was still confused.

"I hoped for this for you, my darling," said Mother, "but we although we are nobility we are not especially known at the palace. Father's title is an old one, handed down from the days of the Conqueror, but our estates are small. This is a great honour for us, for you to be invited. Noblemen should marry noblemen's daughters, and it is so convenient that there is a selection for them at the palace."

"A selection?" She was starting to understand now. "So there are girls at the palace, living there, for noblemen to choose?"

"There are indeed, my dear," said Father, drawing on his long pipe and blowing out a contented mouthful of fragrant smoke. "And you will be one of them. We will send you in the carriage with Pralin next week, after your birthday. And forget about a mere nobleman, my dear wife. If anyone can steal the heart of the king himself, it is our Nuria." He sat back and closed his eyes, lost, it seemed, in his fantasy.

Nuria looked over at her brother, who sat up straight now, looking as surprised as she felt. The king? He was only a few years older than she was and he was ready, past ready some said, to be finding a wife. But she had never, in all her wildest imaginings, thought that she would ever meet him, let alone be part of a selection from which he might make his choice. It was laughable, ridiculous! And she did not like the idea at all.

"But, Father," she said, shaking her head. "I don't want to go to the palace! This is my home. I don't want to leave!" She said it without thinking. If she hadn't been so shocked she would have remembered that there was no point in saying anything at all once Father had made his mind up.

"Nonsense, my dear," he said, reaching out and patting her head absently. He chuckled to himself. "Just think of it. My daughter, one of the court girls!"

Nuria looked over at her mother, who seemed just as happy as her father that she was going away. It hurt, somewhere, that this made them so happy. If she was really their darling, if she was as precious to them as they told her so often, why were they so excited to be sending her so far away to Kalathan City, to be snapped up by some strange nobleman? She suspected that Mother was thinking of dresses and jackets and furs, of jewellery and hairstyles and husbands. It was her favourite pastime, dressing Nuria up and fussing with all those kinds of things. But as the news sank in and she realised what it meant, Nuria could think of only one thing: of the conversation she had had just the week before with the young son of the nobleman who lived on the next-door-estate. She thought of the earnest look on his face, of how he had smiled at her and asked her a question that had thrilled her down to her toes. If she was going to the palace, then all of that would come to nothing.

Nuria felt a lump in her throat and knew that tears were close. She excused herself and walked up the stairs to her bedroom, shutting the door behind her and going over to the wide windowsill from where she could see the dim lights of Shandar's father's house. Yesterday, she had felt quite certain that she knew where her life was heading, and she had been happy and excited about it. But now, this letter had arrived, this honour had been conferred on her, and she had a feeling that nothing would ever be the same. She wrapped an embroidered woollen shawl around herself and sat on the sill, her head leaning against the cold stone, tears streaming down her cheeks as this new reality sank in. "I am sorry, Shandar," she said softly, out of the window towards the light. "It looks as if you won't be visiting me after all."