Post by sarasvati on Sept 12, 2006 9:28:27 GMT -5
I'll come up with a better title sometime, I promise.
All this is my intellectual property. Please don't steal it. If you want to use one of my characters, ask me first, and understand you will have to cite me.
Any constuctive criticism is welcome!
Thanks.
Chapter 1
Princess Stassiel returned to the palace with a surprising lack of fuss. She was accompanied by one captain, her father, and no servant; the powers that be issued a notice stating that she was returning from an undisclosed holy spot where she had been raised in order to cure a serious childhood illness. The rumor mill scoffed and stated she was returning from exile. As usual, everyone nodded politely at the scroll dripping with seals and clung to the rumor as a small child clings to a teddy bear.
The onlookers were generally satisfied with her appearance, no matter the reason for her disappearance. She resembled a porcelain doll and was very slim, despite her abnormal height for a girl of fifteen. (however, a fifteen year old Fe is the equivalent of a 10 year old human). Her skin was pale and delicate; both her eyes and her hair were as dark as cloudy midnight. Her mouth was set in a small, obstinate frown. She managed to slouch and sulk while maintaining perfect posture. She could have been a teenager for her skill.
1
This is not a typo; this is a part of the plot; so keep reading and don’t accuse the writer of lacking skill in counting.
Stassi was amazed how little fuss was made at her return, but not because she expected it out of arrogance; she had been dreading her return because she detested the idea of being touted and led around on horseback like an idol on a holy day, or a jewel on a cushion; she loathed her pretty face that made people stop looking at her after a glance- ‘How pretty! How delicate! Truly a gem. Lovely weather, wouldn’t you say? Bad for crops. My barley’s doing poorly.’ Etcetera. She reveled in the murmur of the crowds busy in the market, scarcely noticing the three horses; she adored the silence of the emptied streets while everyone was out haggling a better price on yesterday’s fish. However, whenever she tried to smile, or tug on her hair, a strict look from the Captain of the Guard, Ysadriel, her escort, halted her in her tracks. She feared her resulting attempt to look royal and disinterested made her look sullen. Her father, Raphe, paid neither any attention.
The city of Iri was large and compact, enclosed in formidable black basalt walls. There were two main gates- Stassi and her escort had entered through the golden, carved ceremonial one, and innumerable small lesser gates and doors, carefully guarded, and ancient holes in archaic walls in inconspicuous places guarded by beggars and madmen willing to trade entrance for a copper. Stassi did not know of the latter; few did. The city was neatly kept by the small army of streetsweepers and polishers, the dulki, who were barely not beggars. They lived outside the walls and were fed by the castle, given bags of scraps every afternoon for which they scrambled and fought like feral dogs. Most of the houses were half-timbered, or stone, and it was not surprising for them to grow five stories high and sprout towers and outcroppings as their owners desired.
Stassi was, above all other things, being taken to see her mother. She had been told she was dead, drowned in a freak accident; Stassi had become so comfortable with the tale that she was nervous about the visit. Her mother, one must understand, was the queen of the Fe, and of the dead, and was so shrouded in mystery that some common people believed in her only as legend. The court was the only body that was afforded the occasional glimpse, and the queen split her time between the palace and the House. Stassi was, as of yet, just a high princess; she would not be able to call herself the crown princess until she turned fifteen. Until then, she was to live as merely a noble daughter, which actually wasn’t something to be referred to as ‘merely’. The noble children rarely saw the outside of the palace; pillars were their trees, and quadrangles their parks; they climbed on deserted staircases instead of rocks. They knew neither hunger nor thirst nor want of aught but freedom of any kind- and only the most adventurous and imaginative thought of that. In spite of that they were dreadfully spoilt.
Stassi was a daydreamer of the highest order; she was shy and introverted and intelligent in an abstracted sort of way. She loved to read and found solace and shelter from those who might want to bother her in books. She disliked teachers not because she disliked learning but because she disliked them in principle. For this reason she was utterly ignoring Ysadriel.
“When you see your mother, Serenity, you must first look her in the eyes- but not presumptuously, then bow as you have been taught. You haven’t? d**n. Beg your pardon. Cross your arms over your chest, place one hand on each shoulder, and bow from the waist. Got it?”
Stassi found the embroidery on her saddle fascinating.
“Good. For this occasion the palace tailors have made you a new suit of clothes- I hope you have not grown since your measurements were last taken?”
And the pattern of the birds and flowers, entrancing.
“Serenity, do you find great pleasure in mocking me? Open your mouth!”
Stassi obediently showed off all her teeth.
“Not like that! d**n, to be given a smart charge is to be given a horse that bites…”
Amazing, the degree of workmanship. Such fine stitches!
The captain continued in this fashion for a while, telling the young princess the small bits and scraps she might possibly need to blend in with the proverbial wallpaper of the castle as soon as humanly possible. Stassi caught almost none of it in her barely concealed awe of the city, for now they had entered into the noble’s neighborhood, surrounding the inner keep of the palace. Hardly a square inch of the houses was not elaborately tiled; those scarce inches which had escaped the onslaught of enamel and porcelain were gilded. Despite their strict seriousness in court, the nobles, in their efforts to one-up each other, tended towards the almost humorously gaudy.
The dulki had outdone themselves here. The streets gleamed in the fading sun, and had been recently redone so that no evidence of frost heaves or cart ruts showed, unlike in the lower city where, in rain, the children could sail rather stately model boats on the canals formed by the impression of hundreds of years of commerce. Woe betide the man who made his conveyance with a non-standard axle length.
They were now approaching the keep wall and its elaborately worked bronze doors and the lintels engraved with runes of blessing and tableaus of great victories. Ysa sat firmly at attention, one hand on the reins and another resting on the hilt of her sword, as was traditional; Raphe looked kingly, like the sort of ideal monarch one sees in statues (and indeed, he seemed made out of painted granite, such was his air of gravity). Stassi resembled, more than ever, a small, worried girl, on a too-large horse, who would rather be anywhere else.
They were greeted by a somewhat lethargic, but dutiful, groom who lent Stassi a hand in getting down from her mount and led the three horses away. Raphe, now on foot and out of the public eye, seemed to be slowly trading stone for flesh, and Ysa yet again turned her attentions to the young princess as she beckoned a maidservant over.
“Serenity.”
This one word was sufficient to startle Stassi out of her daydreams.
“Yes, Captain?”
“Aysi will lead you to your apartments. There you will find such comforts as to refresh you from your travels, and also clothes and other such things that will render you presentable to your lady mother. You are expected in the royal apartments before the clock chimes seven. You shall take supper with your mother. If you are late, I shall personally set you to that which you will not enjoy.”
By this Stassi knew she was being threatened with etiquette lessons. She had no intention of being late.
“Aysi, bath, clothes, seven, dinner with mother,” recited Stassi. “Bath.” She breathed the last word as a man stranded in the desert says “water” upon glimpsing a distant oasis. She did not take well to long days on the road.
Aysi acknowledged the girl with a bow and, taking her gently by the elbow, led her through courtyards, up stairs, and along passages until Stassi was quite dizzy. They finally ended up on the top of a tower along the east wing. Stassi was left at the door to examine her new rooms.
The east wall had many high windows, all made out of perfectly clear glass. The curtains were of plush velvet. The furniture of the anteroom was elegantly and beautifully carved of dark wood from distant Menoë, with delicately embroidered cushions whose patterns were echoed in the tapestry on the north wall. Going through the carved door to her bedroom, she let a slow grin seep over her face. The bed was huge, by her standards, with a surfeit of pillows and crisp white sheets, and hung with drapes that would crush the hopes of the most ambitious draft. There were bookshelves (amply stocked), yet more windows, all thrown open, and more of the sinuously curving furniture. A tea service was sitting on a table opposite the bed, and steam wafted from a door kitty-corner to where she was standing. It smelled tantalizingly of lavender water. She was startled out of her reverie by a small cough; Aysi was still there.
“It’s lovely,” said Stassi politely.
The comment had no effect.
“Serenity is reminded to be at her lady mother’s apartments at the chime of seven.” With that Aysi ghosted out of the room, and Stassi was, for the moment, left to her own devices. She took off her coat, half-boots, and overgown, and taking her hairpins out and letting her braid roll back down her back she dashed for the bathroom as if it would disappear lest she hurry.
Emerging a good half-hour later, pink, dazzlingly clean, and in very good spirits, she applied herself to the tea service. The tea wasn’t what she was used to, but was still pleasant; there were small pastries and a few dainty sandwiches. Despite knowing she was going to eat in little over an hour she devoured these and drank three cups of the odd tea. As she sat back in a haze of lavender- scented happiness, another lady-in-waiting appeared.
“If Serenity would like to dress for her introductions…”
“But that isn’t for hours, is it?” asked Stacey worriedly. “I doubt I’ll take long, getting ready.” All those books! Surely to start one wouldn’t hurt?
“Serenity’s humble servant, who is named Ilsa, has been instructed to prepare you,” said the lady firmly. “For she has but an hour, and much must be done.”
“An hour? To put a dress on?”
“And to do your hair, and jewelry, and to pierce your ears, for they are done but once each and require more…” at this Stassi instinctively put guarding hands over her ears. They were long, and pointed, and capable of holding many more holes, it was true, but she had taken enough convincing to get two done that she did not at all relish the thought of several more in each “…and other things,” she finished vaguely. “Your books will wait, and there is a surprise for you once it is done.”
Stassi at once regretted being offered a bribe for good behavior like a 10 year old- which, she had to admit, she now was- and she also perked up at the thought of a gift of some sort, especially if it was on par with the room.
First, her ears were pierced- four more times in each from tip to lobe which with her flinching took the better part of twenty minutes, even with Ilsa’s trained hands. Then she put on a very fine, perfectly white muslin undergown with a tight bodice, band collar, full bloused sleeves, and full skirt; after that she donned a cap-sleeved, square-necked overgown which fit precisely and buttoned up the back with a multitude of small jet buttons. It was dark blue brocade, and Ilsa scolded her for constantly stroking it. Her hair was done in multitudes of braids, wound around her head and fastened with jeweled combs; a band of what seemed to be sapphires and pearls hid her hairline and an offshoot of it covered the first two or so inches of her part. Perhaps due to an ointment Ilsa had applied her ears weren’t too tender as the woman inserted heavy matching drops linked by long thin silver strands into the new holes. Her lips were darkened with rouge and two small dots of red powder were applied under each eye on the middle of her cheek- Ilsa told her this was the traditional sign of good luck, worn by all girls. Stassi didn’t know how she wouldn’t smudge them.
All this had been done without a mirror; when Ilsa led her to a full-length (and therefore very rare, and expensive) silver-backed glass one, in a frame of silver and gold tooled flowers and sprites, Stassi hardly recognized herself. The skirts were stuffy, and odd to move in; they constrained her stride despite the amount of fabric they contained.
“If Serenity is quite done…”
Stassi turned quickly on her heel, nearly sliding out of her slippers, and hurried after her.
She was once again led in a whirlwind through the maze- she felt as Theseus must have, but without the thread to show her the way- and as the clock sang out seven a lady-in-waiting opened the door and showed her into her mother’s antechamber.
All this is my intellectual property. Please don't steal it. If you want to use one of my characters, ask me first, and understand you will have to cite me.
Any constuctive criticism is welcome!
Thanks.
Chapter 1
Princess Stassiel returned to the palace with a surprising lack of fuss. She was accompanied by one captain, her father, and no servant; the powers that be issued a notice stating that she was returning from an undisclosed holy spot where she had been raised in order to cure a serious childhood illness. The rumor mill scoffed and stated she was returning from exile. As usual, everyone nodded politely at the scroll dripping with seals and clung to the rumor as a small child clings to a teddy bear.
The onlookers were generally satisfied with her appearance, no matter the reason for her disappearance. She resembled a porcelain doll and was very slim, despite her abnormal height for a girl of fifteen. (however, a fifteen year old Fe is the equivalent of a 10 year old human). Her skin was pale and delicate; both her eyes and her hair were as dark as cloudy midnight. Her mouth was set in a small, obstinate frown. She managed to slouch and sulk while maintaining perfect posture. She could have been a teenager for her skill.
1
This is not a typo; this is a part of the plot; so keep reading and don’t accuse the writer of lacking skill in counting.
Stassi was amazed how little fuss was made at her return, but not because she expected it out of arrogance; she had been dreading her return because she detested the idea of being touted and led around on horseback like an idol on a holy day, or a jewel on a cushion; she loathed her pretty face that made people stop looking at her after a glance- ‘How pretty! How delicate! Truly a gem. Lovely weather, wouldn’t you say? Bad for crops. My barley’s doing poorly.’ Etcetera. She reveled in the murmur of the crowds busy in the market, scarcely noticing the three horses; she adored the silence of the emptied streets while everyone was out haggling a better price on yesterday’s fish. However, whenever she tried to smile, or tug on her hair, a strict look from the Captain of the Guard, Ysadriel, her escort, halted her in her tracks. She feared her resulting attempt to look royal and disinterested made her look sullen. Her father, Raphe, paid neither any attention.
The city of Iri was large and compact, enclosed in formidable black basalt walls. There were two main gates- Stassi and her escort had entered through the golden, carved ceremonial one, and innumerable small lesser gates and doors, carefully guarded, and ancient holes in archaic walls in inconspicuous places guarded by beggars and madmen willing to trade entrance for a copper. Stassi did not know of the latter; few did. The city was neatly kept by the small army of streetsweepers and polishers, the dulki, who were barely not beggars. They lived outside the walls and were fed by the castle, given bags of scraps every afternoon for which they scrambled and fought like feral dogs. Most of the houses were half-timbered, or stone, and it was not surprising for them to grow five stories high and sprout towers and outcroppings as their owners desired.
Stassi was, above all other things, being taken to see her mother. She had been told she was dead, drowned in a freak accident; Stassi had become so comfortable with the tale that she was nervous about the visit. Her mother, one must understand, was the queen of the Fe, and of the dead, and was so shrouded in mystery that some common people believed in her only as legend. The court was the only body that was afforded the occasional glimpse, and the queen split her time between the palace and the House. Stassi was, as of yet, just a high princess; she would not be able to call herself the crown princess until she turned fifteen. Until then, she was to live as merely a noble daughter, which actually wasn’t something to be referred to as ‘merely’. The noble children rarely saw the outside of the palace; pillars were their trees, and quadrangles their parks; they climbed on deserted staircases instead of rocks. They knew neither hunger nor thirst nor want of aught but freedom of any kind- and only the most adventurous and imaginative thought of that. In spite of that they were dreadfully spoilt.
Stassi was a daydreamer of the highest order; she was shy and introverted and intelligent in an abstracted sort of way. She loved to read and found solace and shelter from those who might want to bother her in books. She disliked teachers not because she disliked learning but because she disliked them in principle. For this reason she was utterly ignoring Ysadriel.
“When you see your mother, Serenity, you must first look her in the eyes- but not presumptuously, then bow as you have been taught. You haven’t? d**n. Beg your pardon. Cross your arms over your chest, place one hand on each shoulder, and bow from the waist. Got it?”
Stassi found the embroidery on her saddle fascinating.
“Good. For this occasion the palace tailors have made you a new suit of clothes- I hope you have not grown since your measurements were last taken?”
And the pattern of the birds and flowers, entrancing.
“Serenity, do you find great pleasure in mocking me? Open your mouth!”
Stassi obediently showed off all her teeth.
“Not like that! d**n, to be given a smart charge is to be given a horse that bites…”
Amazing, the degree of workmanship. Such fine stitches!
The captain continued in this fashion for a while, telling the young princess the small bits and scraps she might possibly need to blend in with the proverbial wallpaper of the castle as soon as humanly possible. Stassi caught almost none of it in her barely concealed awe of the city, for now they had entered into the noble’s neighborhood, surrounding the inner keep of the palace. Hardly a square inch of the houses was not elaborately tiled; those scarce inches which had escaped the onslaught of enamel and porcelain were gilded. Despite their strict seriousness in court, the nobles, in their efforts to one-up each other, tended towards the almost humorously gaudy.
The dulki had outdone themselves here. The streets gleamed in the fading sun, and had been recently redone so that no evidence of frost heaves or cart ruts showed, unlike in the lower city where, in rain, the children could sail rather stately model boats on the canals formed by the impression of hundreds of years of commerce. Woe betide the man who made his conveyance with a non-standard axle length.
They were now approaching the keep wall and its elaborately worked bronze doors and the lintels engraved with runes of blessing and tableaus of great victories. Ysa sat firmly at attention, one hand on the reins and another resting on the hilt of her sword, as was traditional; Raphe looked kingly, like the sort of ideal monarch one sees in statues (and indeed, he seemed made out of painted granite, such was his air of gravity). Stassi resembled, more than ever, a small, worried girl, on a too-large horse, who would rather be anywhere else.
They were greeted by a somewhat lethargic, but dutiful, groom who lent Stassi a hand in getting down from her mount and led the three horses away. Raphe, now on foot and out of the public eye, seemed to be slowly trading stone for flesh, and Ysa yet again turned her attentions to the young princess as she beckoned a maidservant over.
“Serenity.”
This one word was sufficient to startle Stassi out of her daydreams.
“Yes, Captain?”
“Aysi will lead you to your apartments. There you will find such comforts as to refresh you from your travels, and also clothes and other such things that will render you presentable to your lady mother. You are expected in the royal apartments before the clock chimes seven. You shall take supper with your mother. If you are late, I shall personally set you to that which you will not enjoy.”
By this Stassi knew she was being threatened with etiquette lessons. She had no intention of being late.
“Aysi, bath, clothes, seven, dinner with mother,” recited Stassi. “Bath.” She breathed the last word as a man stranded in the desert says “water” upon glimpsing a distant oasis. She did not take well to long days on the road.
Aysi acknowledged the girl with a bow and, taking her gently by the elbow, led her through courtyards, up stairs, and along passages until Stassi was quite dizzy. They finally ended up on the top of a tower along the east wing. Stassi was left at the door to examine her new rooms.
The east wall had many high windows, all made out of perfectly clear glass. The curtains were of plush velvet. The furniture of the anteroom was elegantly and beautifully carved of dark wood from distant Menoë, with delicately embroidered cushions whose patterns were echoed in the tapestry on the north wall. Going through the carved door to her bedroom, she let a slow grin seep over her face. The bed was huge, by her standards, with a surfeit of pillows and crisp white sheets, and hung with drapes that would crush the hopes of the most ambitious draft. There were bookshelves (amply stocked), yet more windows, all thrown open, and more of the sinuously curving furniture. A tea service was sitting on a table opposite the bed, and steam wafted from a door kitty-corner to where she was standing. It smelled tantalizingly of lavender water. She was startled out of her reverie by a small cough; Aysi was still there.
“It’s lovely,” said Stassi politely.
The comment had no effect.
“Serenity is reminded to be at her lady mother’s apartments at the chime of seven.” With that Aysi ghosted out of the room, and Stassi was, for the moment, left to her own devices. She took off her coat, half-boots, and overgown, and taking her hairpins out and letting her braid roll back down her back she dashed for the bathroom as if it would disappear lest she hurry.
Emerging a good half-hour later, pink, dazzlingly clean, and in very good spirits, she applied herself to the tea service. The tea wasn’t what she was used to, but was still pleasant; there were small pastries and a few dainty sandwiches. Despite knowing she was going to eat in little over an hour she devoured these and drank three cups of the odd tea. As she sat back in a haze of lavender- scented happiness, another lady-in-waiting appeared.
“If Serenity would like to dress for her introductions…”
“But that isn’t for hours, is it?” asked Stacey worriedly. “I doubt I’ll take long, getting ready.” All those books! Surely to start one wouldn’t hurt?
“Serenity’s humble servant, who is named Ilsa, has been instructed to prepare you,” said the lady firmly. “For she has but an hour, and much must be done.”
“An hour? To put a dress on?”
“And to do your hair, and jewelry, and to pierce your ears, for they are done but once each and require more…” at this Stassi instinctively put guarding hands over her ears. They were long, and pointed, and capable of holding many more holes, it was true, but she had taken enough convincing to get two done that she did not at all relish the thought of several more in each “…and other things,” she finished vaguely. “Your books will wait, and there is a surprise for you once it is done.”
Stassi at once regretted being offered a bribe for good behavior like a 10 year old- which, she had to admit, she now was- and she also perked up at the thought of a gift of some sort, especially if it was on par with the room.
First, her ears were pierced- four more times in each from tip to lobe which with her flinching took the better part of twenty minutes, even with Ilsa’s trained hands. Then she put on a very fine, perfectly white muslin undergown with a tight bodice, band collar, full bloused sleeves, and full skirt; after that she donned a cap-sleeved, square-necked overgown which fit precisely and buttoned up the back with a multitude of small jet buttons. It was dark blue brocade, and Ilsa scolded her for constantly stroking it. Her hair was done in multitudes of braids, wound around her head and fastened with jeweled combs; a band of what seemed to be sapphires and pearls hid her hairline and an offshoot of it covered the first two or so inches of her part. Perhaps due to an ointment Ilsa had applied her ears weren’t too tender as the woman inserted heavy matching drops linked by long thin silver strands into the new holes. Her lips were darkened with rouge and two small dots of red powder were applied under each eye on the middle of her cheek- Ilsa told her this was the traditional sign of good luck, worn by all girls. Stassi didn’t know how she wouldn’t smudge them.
All this had been done without a mirror; when Ilsa led her to a full-length (and therefore very rare, and expensive) silver-backed glass one, in a frame of silver and gold tooled flowers and sprites, Stassi hardly recognized herself. The skirts were stuffy, and odd to move in; they constrained her stride despite the amount of fabric they contained.
“If Serenity is quite done…”
Stassi turned quickly on her heel, nearly sliding out of her slippers, and hurried after her.
She was once again led in a whirlwind through the maze- she felt as Theseus must have, but without the thread to show her the way- and as the clock sang out seven a lady-in-waiting opened the door and showed her into her mother’s antechamber.
