Luminous

4 - Lady Arinel

The sun peeked from behind the mountains at the horizon. The black dark of Crosset faded to a dull gray. Dewdrops clung to the blades of lush grass dotting the hillside.

The freezing cold stone of the Keep wall burned on Meya's back. She straightened with a jolt, wiggling her thumb away from Myron's as he lunged in to pin it down. Although May Fest was just around the corner and marked the beginning of spring, the cold of winter hadn't left the manor for good. It would creep back in during the nights after sundown and slink away by the dawn before sunrise.

It felt like half a day had passed since Meya and her whole family, including Hanna, had trudged from their cottage to the castle and joined the congregation of peasant families in front of the Keep.

Meya counted nine young women around her age. Judging from their tattered woolen dresses, they were only a little better off than Meya and were the newly hired maids. Ten young men in gray-green uniforms stood among them, swords hanging in scabbards from simple brown belts. Those were probably the guards.

An old man who seemed to be the butler, an old lady who seemed to be the head maid, and another middle-aged man who seemed to be the head guard stood beside the Keep's towering double doors, watching over them, all dressed in the same dull gray-green and flanked by castle guards in gray-green.

Every noble clan had its color. Crosset's color was the grayish Crosset Green, which reminded Meya of tree lichen and bread mold.

At least she'd be wearing Hadrian's color, Hadrian Red, for work. Some say it was the color of boiling blood.

After two hours of miserable chitchat masked with excitement and whatever silly game one could play with one's little brothers with bare hands, Lady Arinel and Lord Crosset finally emerged from the Keep.

Meya released Myron's thumb from under hers, eyes wide. It felt like her heart had cut itself from its bonds and joined her churning bowels below.

She'd tempered a tiny hope that some complication would arise and the journey would be postponed, as was typical of arrangements concerning important people. But nothing of the sort happened. It was time.

Meya longed to hug Hanna, but Mum wouldn't let her approach Lady Arinel smelling of pig. So, she grudgingly settled for a long pat and a nose kiss.

Marcus and Myron let her ruffle their hair. Marin kissed her on the cheek. Mistral threw herself into Meya's embrace and squeezed the air out of her lungs. Morel even managed a stiff hug and an awkward pat on her back. Mum's hug was a few breaths longer than the usual split-second— Meya's body was too hot for anyone to embrace her comfortably. As always, Maro held on the longest.

"Take care, little sis." He whispered. Meya nodded, not trusting herself to speak lest the tears burning in her eyes spill.

"Stay safe. Don't make any trouble for the Lady. Come home next Fest in one piece. Think you can do that?"

Meya creaked out a wry grin. She'd try, but, knowing her luck, she couldn't promise anything.

A long shadow swept over them. Meya turned around only to find Dad, his lips pursed, his eyebrows tied in a troubled frown. Maro's strong arms slid away against her silent wishes.

After all that had been said and done, it took her every last drop of courage to remain standing, staring down at Dad's boots, and not bolt away in shame.

Dad tidied up the unruly strands of hair on her crown.

"You take care of yourself," He grunted, his eyes stubbornly fixed on Meya's hair in embarrassment. Meya sniffed. A rebellious teardrop rolled down her cheek.

"Thanks, Dad," she whispered. Dad gave her a few more affectionate pats. Following his gaze, Meya found the other nine maids milling about beside the cobbled path, unsure who should be first in line. She took a deep breath and one last look at her family, then ventured off to join them.

⏳

In her seventeen years, Meya had only once seen Lady Arinel. That was seven years ago, the autumn before the Famine. Lord Crosset had Meya locked in the Liar's Bridle, chained at the Town Square and whipped for working in the fields—Crosset didn't allow women to work the fields back then.

Meya sneaked glances as she gathered her dress and knelt beside the ninth maid, a fellow redhead. The Lady looked to be around her age. Her oval face was porcelain white, decorated with healthy tinges of pink. Her freefalling golden locks blanketed her Crosset Green silk-and-lace dress down to the bosom. Her eyes were a shade of blue striking and chilling cold as the Ice Pillory Meya had escaped. She had inherited the fabled Crosset eyes.

"Arinel, these women will accompany and serve you in Hadrian."

Lord Crosset croaked in his tired, gravelly voice. His green silk tunic hung limply from his thin old shoulders. An anxious glint darted about his eyes as he watched his daughter.

Arinel stood flanked by a strict-looking, plump old chaperone and a young maid with a heavy wooden mask covering half her face. She studied her ten new subjects, cold, emotionless eyes sweeping over the throng, pausing at each of them in turn.

Meya avoided her eyes when her turn came, pulling her shabby old cloak to cover her just as shabby dress when she felt the heat of Arinel's glare lingering on it.

"Thank you, Father, but I believe Hadrian already has enough peasants in the scullery," said Arinel, her voice cold. The chaperone shared startled looks with the masked maid, and Meya understood why Lord Crosset had looked so worried.

Noble ladies from powerful families would have younger noblewomen accompanying them as maids of honor. Arinel probably wasn't thrilled at the prospect of showing up to her wedding with a string of peasant girls.

Lord Crosset had fallen from favor with the king because of his inept handling of the Famine. Still, if he couldn't even attract proper attendants for his daughter, maybe he was even worse off than Meya had thought.

If so, why would Lord Coris Hadrian want to marry Lady Arinel? Hadrian was now the most powerful clan in the central west. Was there a catch somewhere? Was Coris unbearably ugly, deformed, crippled? Was that why no one looked thrilled their Lady was marrying into a powerful family?

That aside, this could be good for Meya. If Lady Arinel rejected them all, she wouldn't have to go to Hadrian! Better yet, Lord Crosset might hire them to work in Crosset Castle, so they wouldn't blab about this embarrassing spectacle and destroy his nonexistent reputation.

The maids around Meya shivered and fidgeted. The guards stole quick glances at each other, but no one let out a whisper.

"They are to be your maids of honor, Arinel. Handpicked from our oldest, most respectable farmer and artisan clans. The Gretgorns and the Hilds didn't help kidnap your betrothed back in the Famine. Now it's time to honor their virtue. They'll look no different from us once they've been groomed."

Lord Crosset corrected her. Meya jumped at the mention of her family. Other than her case, she'd thought they'd picked any girl bold enough to leave for a faraway town.

Though tired and weary as ever, there was a note of finality to Lord Crosset's voice. Arinel met her father's pale eyes. With a deep sigh, she lifted her skirts and shuffled to her white, gold-gilded carriage, her chaperone and favorite maid following in her wake.

When Arinel passed her, Meya saw resignation and defeat in those sharp blue eyes. The same despair she felt, forced to leave behind everything she knew. No matter the circumstances that led to this journey, Arinel, like Meya, wasn't given a choice.

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