Bride of Kalathan

3: Palace

She had to share a room. It was a shock, to think that she would not have her privacy, her space to think and stare out of the window and dream. And the other girls were strange, so different to her, so grown-up, it seemed. Hellis was tall and slim, her ashy-coloured blonde hair curled charmingly down her back in tiny spirals she encouraged with a sweet-smelling tonic that she applied every evening. She had hard eyes, though, and a contemptuous look for Nuria when she arrived. Rushta was plumper, her almost olive-tinged skin glowing with health, her hair black and smooth as the coffee they were served with breakfast every morning. And those mornings – Nuria could not get used to how long it took for Hellis and Rushta to get themselves ready, how early they rose to arrange their hair, to dress and fuss with little pots of colour and powder and scent. She had thought her mother overdid it, but this was something else entirely. It took her ten minutes to choose one of her dresses, decide which of her necklaces, earrings, bracelets and rings to wear with it, which slippers or soft boots to select, and then to wash her face and braid her hair. After that she was ready, waiting impatiently for the others to finish so that they could go down to the dining room together.

"She doesn't need to primp, Rushta darling," said Hellis, on the morning of the second day, staring into the mirror and talking to Rushta as if Nuria wasn't there at all. "She's got that perfect fairy-tale look, hasn't she? Golden hair and blue eyes, like a female conqueror stepped right out of a history book!"

"And who needs roses in your cheeks when you have rubies at your neck?" asked Rushta. Neither Hellis nor Rushta had jewels, Nuria noticed, as large and valuable as her own. She had never thought of her father as a wealthy man, but as the other girls oohed and aahed over her dresses and her slippers, over her jewellery and especially the hood and cape, she began to realise the wealth her parents had lavished on her.

"It's definitely imported Mandarian velvet," sighed Hellis, stroking the hood after they laid it out on Nuria's bed to admire it. "This colour – like creamy butter, isn't it? I have never seen anything like it. And the workmanship is exquisite. I can't see any stitches at all."

"This fur," said Rushta, gently touching the thick trim as if she might damage it. "Is it ermine? Or bear? It couldn't be white leopard, and it doesn't look bleached to me."

"I don't know," said Nuria, overwhelmed at the attention. "I think it's ermine, but I don't know. It's very warm."

"Where did your parents get this?" asked Hellis. "Does your father trade?"

"Oh no," said Nuria, shocked at the accusation. Her father was not a merchant! "He has his estate, in Baskalia. We grow grapes for wine, and olives too. I think my mother got it from the Parsian bazaar in Bashrik."

Both girls laughed. "A bazaar?" said Hellis. "She no sooner got this at a bazaar than they found those pearls at the bottom of a fishpond!" She reached out and fingered the necklace Nuria wore over her simply-cut cream-coloured brocade dress, a triple rope of good-sized pearls that hung from her neck to her waist. Her fingers were cold, and Nuria shivered. She did not love the attention, but it was a nice feeling, to have pretty things that the other girls admired.

There were about ten other girls who were new at the palace, Nuria soon learnt, girls from noble families all over Kalathan. As she, Hellis and Rushta and the other new girls were shown around the palace grounds she passed small groups of others too, sitting prettily in beautiful dresses even in the chilly air, occupied with small tasks like reading, sewing or playing tunes on small harps. They were all young, all attractive. She noticed a few with the darker skin and narrow eyes of the people in the north east, and others as fair and golden as herself. The paved courtyard through which they were walking was dotted with ornately carved wooden benches, beds of pretty evergreen shrubs, the dormant vines of climbing roses and stone water fountains, silent now in the winter months.