This is the last of the currently written chapters I'll be posting. As soon as I can, I'll get up the first part of the rewritten chapter one and we'll go from there.
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Nendo approached, his steps silent against the lush carpet. Darian motioned him silently to sit down; he obeyed, sinking rather uncomfortably into the soft armchair, feeling very much like he was sitting on a cloud.
“Wine?” said Darian, lifting a clouded bottle full of green kaza fruit wine.
Nendo shook his head. Darian shrugged and poured some wine for herself into an elegantly fluted glass. She downed the substance in a single gulp before setting the glass, with a loud clink, on the table again.
She drank like a man, tossing the wine down quickly instead of taking delicate sips like women did. But he could see the woman in her now: her small stature, her delicate features. When she spoke, he now saw that what he’d previously thought to be “his” high tenor was more of an alto. Yet her every moment was crisp and decisive, like a man’s, and she sat not with a girl’s closed grace but with her chin defiantly raised and legs apart.
Neither spoke for the longest moment. Darian set her midnight blue gaze on Nendo’s face for a disconcertingly long time, but Nendo didn’t dare meet her eyes. He was afraid of what he’d see: disapproval? Anger? But presently she turned away from him to pour another glass of wine. She didn’t drink from it but spoke, her voice carrying through the silent room.
“I assume you have questions.”
You think? thought Nendo, rage constricting his insides; he fought it down, though. Darian was right; the problem was that Nendo didn’t know where to even start.
“Well…I…” He coughed, clearing his throat. “I was just…I mean…how long have you done this? Have you…been pretending…?”
“My entire life.” Darian’s answer was swift and dispassionate. “I was presented as male at birth, and raised as a boy.”
“Why?” Nendo might not have known much about nobles, but somehow he figured it wasn’t standard practice for noblemen to bring their daughters up as sons.
“Succession issues.” Darian shrugged. “My mother didn’t seem to think it right for a girl to carry on the mantle of the House of Miria. At least that’s what Father always told me. I wouldn’t know, seeing as she died when I was seven.”
“What?” Nendo was even more lost. “But—but—that doesn’t make any sense. Why wouldn’t she try to have sons after you or something?”
“It was…” Darian paused to collect herself. “My birth was an extremely…difficult…one. Afterwards, the physician told my mother that she would never be able to give birth again. I was her only child. The heir.”
Nendo couldn’t think of anything to say, so he just scuffed the carpet with his shoe. Darian took Nendo’s silence as a cue to continue speaking.
“So you see I’ve never had a choice in the matter. Not that I mind…anyway, I certainly didn’t intend on you finding out. What to do now…”
“Who else knows?” said Nendo harshly, interrupting Darian’s musing.
“Hmm?” Darian looked up from the still-full wine glass she’d been intently examining. “Ah, well. Cura, obviously. And Lord Masudo. And you now, I suppose.”
“No one else?” said Nendo, glaring at Darian. But he already knew the answer. Even though Nendo knew Darian was a girl now, unless he was expressly trying to find something feminine to her, he couldn’t see anything in her besides the arrogant young lord she was supposed to be.
“Cura tells me the servants joke about me being a eunuch, but that’s the closest anyone has come,” said Darian. “And I expect that you will keep silent about it too.”
Nendo stood up in a flash, anger flaring inside him. Darian blinked but gave no other signs of confusion or alarm. “You want to me lie for you.”
“Sit down,” said Darian, an icy edge entering her voice.
Nendo remained standing. “I’m not going to lie. I’m not going to help you pretend to be something you’re not.”
“You will sit down,” repeated Darian, her eyes narrowing, “and you will do exactly as your lord commands.”
“You’re not my lord!” exploded Nendo, all of his rage breaking over. “You’re a woman!”
For the first time, real anger flashed across Darian’s face. She set the glass of wine down so hard the green liquid sloshed on to the table and leaned forward, her hands digging into her knees. “I don’t think you quite understand. I am a Count, you foolish boy.”
“You’re a liar,” said Nendo, his voice rising.
“And you’re an idiot,” retorted Darian. “You don’t understand anything, do you?”
“I understand that you’re a liar,” said Nendo, pointing indignantly at her. “And what you’re doing is wrong. It’s not right—girls shouldn’t act like boys. You’re a girl, that’s what…that’s all…”
He trailed off, unable to speak through the knot of rage compressing his chest. Darian blinked at him, uncomprehending, before throwing her head back and laughing harshly. “You really are an idiot! Why do you continue acting like I have a choice in the matter? This was decided for me at birth, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“But—you do,” hissed Nendo, struggling to work his jaw again. “Your parents are dead. There’s no one to force you to pretend anymore, is there?”
“Well, that’s true,” said Darian, becoming immersed in flicking imaginary lint off her pants legs. “But imagine the furor it’d cause if the Count of Miria one day started dressing and acting as a girl. I’d probably get thrown in prison.”
Well, that’s what you are, isn’t it? An imposter. A criminal, thought Nendo darkly. He folded his arms, not saying anything.
“And besides…” continued Darian, crossing her legs—not tightly, as a girl would have, but resting one ankle on the other knee. “I like being a man. You have no idea, do you? If you’re a girl, you have to sit primly and never speak unless spoken to and do nothing except embroider and sigh over men and marriage. Girls can’t learn battle magic or run estates on their own.”
Nendo didn’t know what to say to this, though he thought what Darian was describing did sound rather dreary. Still, he thought girls found those kinds of things fun. And it didn’t matter if Darian didn’t like feminine pursuits; she was still a girl and that was that. There was a higher law to answer to than just what she wanted to do or not. It was the way things were.
“I am a man, and I am Lord Darian, the Sixth Count of Miria,” said Darian, her tone becoming sharper. “You will believe that and nothing else, and you will never tell anyone anything besides that.”
“No. I can’t—I can’t—just lie like that,” protested Nendo. Little white lies were all right, but something like that—a person’s gender—he couldn’t lie about it. He couldn’t live with so much dishonesty.
“Too bad. You haven’t got a choice.” Darian sat upright, meeting Nendo’s eyes. “You’ll either accept it and live with it or you’ll disappear just like the other servants who got too curious.”
Disappear? A cold tremor running down his spine. He knew exactly what Darian meant by the word, and it rankled. This girl was willing to kill to protect her secret?
Unwittingly, he remembered Masudo and Darian’s conversation behind closed doors. They had mentioned others, other servants who Darian had taught to read and become close enough to for them to uncover her secret. The way that the two had spoken implied that the servant no longer served Miria. No longer, thought Nendo, a grim smirk twisting his face, because he was dead.
“What exactly do you find so funny?” said Darian, her icy tone slicing through Nendo’s thoughts.
“Nothing,” said Nendo, clenching his teeth.
“Remember what I said,” said Darian. “This is no laughing matter, boy. Keep quiet.”
“You wouldn’t kill me,” said Nendo, seized by a sudden reckless urge. “You need me, don’t you. You and Masudo, for whatever plans you’re cooking up—”
“Lord Masudo,” interrupted Darian, giving him a cold glare. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, this blather about plans or whatnot.”
She was lying again. Lying without qualms—but then again, someone who lived her entire life as a lie wouldn’t care about speaking untruths every now and then.
“Remember,” said Darian, standing up in a single fluid motion and picking up her wine glass as well, “if you can’t keep silent, I will silence you.”
Just as she raised the glass, prepared to down the liquid, Nendo’s rage broke over. Defying all of his servant training, defying everything Cura had ever drilled into him about being respectful in the presence of his lord, he turned around and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind his back. Once in the hall, Nendo paused outside the door, his breaths coming in short, ragged pants, his heart pounding an incessant drumbeat in his ears. He waited for some response to his insolence—an indignant shout, a cold command to return to the room. Nothing came but silence.
Fine, suit yourself, he thought angrily, and turned and headed back to the servants’ quarters. Yet he couldn’t suppress a faint quivering in his nerves, a rising sense of disquiet.
~*~
After Nendo left, Darian drained the glass of sour kaza wine in a single gulp, wincing as the substance burned as it went down. Truthfully, she hated the stuff—it was at once sickly sweet and so sour it made her tongue want to curl on itself—but nothing else could clear her head in a single rush.
“Lord Darian…?” A hesitant voice behind her, as well as the creaking of a door, implied Cura had entered. Darian didn’t turn around.
“How much did you hear?” she said.
“The entire thing, my lord,” said Cura quietly. “F-forgive me, I just couldn’t…”
“It’s perfectly all right,” said Darian with a weary sigh. She sank back into the armchair, letting its comfortable softness yield to her body, and pressed the heel of her hand to her aching forehead. “It was my fault, Cura. Letting him find out like that…what am I going to tell Masudo?”
“Lord Masudo will understand,” said Cura, approaching the armchair from behind and resting a small hand on its back.
“I certainly hope so…” Darian laughed bitterly, shaking her head. “I highly doubt Masudo will appreciate it if I get rid of this project…and truthfully, Nendo is one of the more promising ones…”
“Please, my lord…” Darian looked up, startled by the desperation in Cura’s words. Cura met her eyes, worry carved on her features.
“My lord,” repeated Cura. “Please don’t…don’t kill him. Not Nendo. He…he’s a nice boy, m-maybe a little headstrong, but I’m sure he’ll understand…”
Darian recognized the intent shining in Cura’s eyes and turned away, burying her face behind a frustrated hand. “Say what you like, Cura,” she said, kicking at the carpet. “But so far, Nendo seems to be asking for it…”
Perhaps the wine was already taking effect, because Darian found herself laughing, a quiet, darkly amused chuckle, for no conceivable reason. Cura stood, watching her with a pained expression.
“My lord…” she said.
“Send a message to Masudo,” sighed Darian, once the laughing fit had subsided. “Tell him that the boy has found out. That ought to get him scampering here immediately, shouldn’t it?”
And again she laughed, the harsh sounds ringing throughout the silent room.
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So those are Darian's reasons. I'd especially like critique on them--are they not enough? Also, I'm wondering about Nendo's reaction, because I started feeling like he wasn't angry enough.
Like I said, this is the last of the first draft chapters I will be posting on YWS. If you really are itching to read chapter ten onward, then I'll send you them by PM, but honestly the rewritten chapters are more indicative of what the novel is actually like, so I'd prefer if you looked at those.
Shred away! The more in depth you can make your critiques, the better. ^^
