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Elziba
The door opened and she heard a gasp from the doorway. Straightening, she saw Mirogol standing there, blushing bright red. She immediately checked her reflection in the glass, her blouse was done up properly and she’d seen her skirt when she bent down to pull on her boots. She was perfectly decent other than her hair, which she hadn’t tied back yet as was proper. She gave Mirogol a funny look, wondering why he was blushing like that. He cleared his throat several times before speaking. “Your mother told me to ask you to join her in the kitchen as soon as you can,” he said then, blushing mightily again, turned and strode from the room and back down the hallway. Elziba frowned at his retreating figure then pushed his odd behavior from her mind, turning instead to why her mother would require her presence in the kitchen. She quickly tied her hair back in a neat braid, tucking in a few stray strands and checking herself again in the glass. Deeming her appearance to be good enough she headed down the hallway toward the kitchen. Before she got there she could hear voices. One was obviously that of her mother and another her father’s easily distinguishable baritone but the others she couldn’t identify. One was a strong bass, the other almost a tenor, but both were somewhat familiar. She drew closer to the kitchen and groaned as she realized whose voices she was hearing. She’d forgotten that today was the day they’d set aside to sow the fields and the drizzle though inconvenient and miserable would be good for the new seed. No doubt the voices she heard were those of Rarken and Kamart, Lord Hanark’s two eldest boys. Elziba braced herself then strode into the kitchen and smiled pleasantly at her parents. Her father looked up and smiled at her in return. Cotholder Elzid was a strong man, though on the short side and graying at the temples. Elziba’s father had always been incredibly nice to her and growing up he’d been the one she confided in whereas her sisters had confided in their mother. But now that she was older she found that she could no longer confide in him as she used to, he just didn’t understand anymore. She sighed inwardly then brought her attention back to the room. “Elziba!” cried her mother with a bright, artificial smile. “Won’t you greet our guests, Lord Heir Rarken and his brother Kamart?” “Welcome to our home, sirs,” she replied, trying to smile though inwardly groaning at her mother’s forced enthusiasm. “Hello, Elziba,” said Rarken, looking her up and down and she grimaced involuntarily. Kamart thankfully paid her no mind and she took up a position behind her father, thankful for that custom which would at least partial hide her from Rarken’s prying eyes. The discussion over klah was short; all three men agreeing that the sooner they got the work done the sooner they could enjoy a hot meal in the dryness and somewhat meager comfort of the Cothold. Elziba trudged out into the drizzling rain with the rest of her family and prayed she’d be lucky enough to end up working far away from the two young lords. Her luck was not with her today however. She soon found herself working directly between the two men, though Rarken was hardly working. He switched between eyeing her up and down and trying to start a conversation with her. She responded as politely as she could without leading him to believe that she was interested in standing about and having a conversation with him. About halfway through the work her mother called her, a frown creasing her brow. “Yes, mother?” she asked wearily as she approached the frowning woman. “Why are you being so rude to Lord Rarken?” her mother demanded. “He merely wishes to have a conversation with you.” “That is not all he wishes, Mother,” Elziba replied testily. “He keeps looking me up and down as if he’s trying to size up a runner he wishes to purchase. I’m being as polite as I can. I just can’t stand being treated as if I’m here for his amusement and all that’s holding him back is the fact that my father is working on the other side of him,” she hissed angrily, surprising herself with how much she told her mother. “Well,” replied her mother, a bit taken aback. She stood there staring at her daughter for a moment before frowning again. “I don’t see why you can’t realize the honor he’s giving you by showing you such favor, Elziba. You should deem it a great honor that the future Lord Holder in charge of our wellbeing is interested in you! You, a mere cotholder’s daughter, have managed to attract the notice of a Lord Holder’s son. That is an honor any way you look at it!” “You think he’s interested in me as anything more than a woman, Mother?” Elziba hissed back, not wanting the young lords to hear her. “He just wants me available to him so he can leave a few half-bloods running around to make his brothers nervous. He’s not interested in making me his lady, he just wants me around to amuse himself with until he does get married, then he’ll cast me off to support myself any way I can!” Her mother’s eyes grew wide, not having realized that her daughter was so familiar with such things. Not knowing what to say she merely waved her daughter away and back to her work. Turning back to her own work she only half paid attention to what she was doing, surprised by the strong, intelligent young woman her daughter had become, but still not understanding her. Most women in her daughter’s place found it quite gratifying to be available to one young lord or another. It granted them a great deal of privilege. Katriana stopped working for a moment and turned to watch her daughter, suddenly realizing that perhaps the problem wasn’t a matter of honor. But what young man could Elziba have her eye on? Continue… |