Young Writers Society

A/N: This is the first chapter of my novel for camp NaNo. I'm not sure about the pacing and I think some parts might need a little more description. Anyone who can zone in on where these areas are - or other areas of improvement - will be greatly appreciated. And I will pay full attention to your suggestions after the month is over because it's NaNo and I have to keep going.

Also, I have already received a comment that Henry is too toxic. We have discussed it and come up with a solution. Please do judge him harshly, but judge me harsher for writing him so poisonous. I will make changes as soon as I have reached the word goal for the month. This is essentially a disclaimer.

I have now edited the exchange between Lorna and Henry. I hope that Henry seems a little less evil now. If he does still seem like too much of a sociopath, please let me know because that is not who he was supposed to be.

 Lorna's father took her mother's hand, Olven took Claren's and before Lorna could sigh despondently at her position as fifth wheel, the forms of her family were trotting onto the dance floor. When Lorna's father had engaged Olven – Lorna's brother – to Claren Osinti, Lorna had hesitantly hoped that her time would come soon. She had been training as a wife since the age of five and was desperate to put her immaculately polished skills into practice at the side of her husband.

It would seem, however, that her father's quest to find her ideal match could not be rushed. Lorna understood his desire to further the family's standing; she just wished – and wished fervently, every day, with every molecule of her being – that he would hurry up with it. It was not easy being at a party to celebrate the wedding of her province's prince when all she could think about was when it would finally be her turn.

She pecked delicately at one of the cheese sandwiches from the rack on their table. The cheddar was far too bitter. Lorna almost gagged from the stench of it and she could feel her face contort into a pucker of disgust. Cheese was repugnant. Still, it was less repugnant than the image she had in her head of herself gorging on the slice of chocolate cake lying on Olven's plate. To distract herself from the temptation of the sweet, moist glory of a chocolate cake – and from the loneliness she felt every time she glanced over at the perfect lines of dancing couples – Lorna raised a glass of fizzy orange juice to her mouth and lost herself in its bubbling depths.

Consequently, it was with a horrific snort that Lorna responded to the tap on her shoulder. The liquid slipped down her windpipe and she was infuriated to find racking coughs tearing through her diaphragm. She had to get this under control – now. She must have sounded like a hippopotamus with the hiccups.

The coughing was winding to a stop when Lorna recoiled from a heavy slap to her back that propelled her forward almost into the juice. Was she being punished? Was this her father's way of ensuring she never made such a mistake again? That didn't seem like him. She tried to gleam an inkling of what was going on but her awareness was spinning like a hurricane and she could barely keep her eyes open as the hand thumped once again into her back.

Eventually, mercifully, the slapping reached its crescendo with one final, spine-shuddering thwack, and juice shot from Lorna's mouth like she was the faucet of a water fountain. Her entire ribcage seemed to be jangling as she heaved breaths in and out. In-out-in-out. In out. In out. In. Out. In. Out.

“Are you okay?” asked an amused voice from behind her head. As if she hadn't just simultaneously made herself undesirable to every male in the room – every male in a five mile radius – and almost died.

“I am fine, sir,” she replied.

The owner of the hand yanked a chair out from her table and plonked himself onto it. He was lanky and seemed to drape himself over the backrest and the cushioned seat. Yet, he was not monstrously tall, so he didn't quite dwarf it. Lorna got the feeling he might have liked to be able to dwarf things. He wore a loose blue linen shirt so his arms were barely visible but something about the way his head never wavered from its level angle suggested he was strong and in control of most of his surroundings.

“Oh, please, nobody's called me 'sir' in a long time.” He waved her term of respect effortlessly away but his expression was pained. Lorna wondered nervously why it was that he no longer expected to be referred to as 'sir'.

“Well, thank you – for that,” Lorna mumbled, torn between returning to the drink that had got her into this mess in the first place and leaving herself open to continued conversation with him.

“What?” he exclaimed, feigning modesty. Then, abandoning the pretence, he swung to the opposite extreme and continued mock-arrogantly, “Saving your life, you mean?”

“Yes, um, that.” Lorna nodded. She inwardly chastised herself for such halting speech. “Thank you very much for that.”

He was just so loud. It was as if his being was pressing in around her, suffocating her ability to think. Everything that had been hammered into her about how to conduct herself was being squashed by him. She was floundering.

“So have you been abandoned too?” he continued. Why was he still talking? Why wouldn't he just leave? She was hardly riveting company, what with her 'um's and her 'Well's.

“My parents and my brother and his fiancée went up to dance,” Lorna explained.

“My aunt and uncle went up too,” he said. He peered into the corners of the room and explained, “My cousins are probably running around pretending to be mighty warriors in the service of the Prestelfian Prince.”

“Hey, um, would you like to dance?” he mumbled.

Lorna glanced at the dance floor. The figures pacing and heel-toeing and twirling on it looked like they were separated into two units. One unit stepped one way; the other stepped the other way. Then they joined and spun round as one. Lorna had never felt more alone, or unsure of herself. While Olven followed the steps set down by centuries of tradition, Lorna fond herself ransacking her brain for a response. What harm could it do to dance with him? Maybe it would shut him up.

Lorna groaned silently and placed her hand as lightly as she could on Henry's. He clasped his fingers around it and brought it down to the space between them. Swinging the fist they had made together backwards and forwards, he led her forwards at a quick stride to join the dance. Henry draped his right arm over her shoulders and she brought her had up to meet it. Their left hands joined just in front of Henry's left hip. Lorna took a deep breath, quickly ran through the steps in her head, then relaxed into the orderly routine of the dance.

He could not have been a more infuriating dancer. The steps, which Lorna had learned when she was six went: heel, toe, heel, two, step two, three, four, turn – repeat four times. Spin, two, three, four. Waltz, two, three, four. Henry seemed to think that it was excusable to pick and choose between steps as if they were the snacks laid out at his table. Lorna did her best to dissolve into the chirping of the fiddle and the bleating of the accordion but even her most heartfelt efforts were in vain. Henry would add in an extra hop and throw her rhythm completely off.

She couldn't exactly speak up. Clearly, her father was hoping to pair her off to him, no matter his blatant disregard for choreography that had been upheld for hundreds of years. She wasn't about to ruin that for him.

“You're annoyed that I won't conform to the routine I'm supposed to do, aren't you?” Henry whispered. There he went again. Would he never stop provoking her? What had she done to deserve somebody so impossible?

“It had crossed my mind,” Lorna admitted.

Henry was silent for a few moments before, after a quick swivel to switch directions, he explained, “I don't like that some guy a millennium ago gets to decide how I dance. I mean, think about what people did to each other a thousand years ago – or even five hundred. Lynching. Raising demons for revenge. Cannibalism. Do you really want to follow in the footsteps of someone from that age?”

“This dance was choreographed by Julopia Herythan three hundred and fifty-one years ago. She was at the forefront of protests against magic and the right of women to opt out of an arranged marriage.” Lorna rhymed the excerpt off as if 'Ceilidhs Through the Ages' by Poter Kilmen was floating six inches in front of her eyes. “Two rather unrelated causes, yes, but both about as progressive as you're likely to get.”

Henry, rather than seeming rebuffed and meekly adhering to Herythan's steps, grinned eagerly at Lorna and swooshed a leg out in front of him.

“Then, clearly, she's a fan of people taking matters into their own hands – of evolution.” Henry turned to face Lorna and winked at her. Lorna's jaw clenched but she willed her smile not to waver. Her father had impressed on her for as long as she could remember the importance of never wavering. She would not let down her father.

As the accordion blared out its final, rejoicing note, Henry bowed deeply to Lorna. Lorna curtsied and was grateful that at least this little detail of the routine had not been disregarded as neglectfully as the rest of the dance.

Two children – a little red-headed boy and a brunette of roughly the same age, who were presumably Henry's cousins – darted towards him as they approached the tables. Lorna realised a little belatedly that the boy was in fact chasing the girl. The girl tore past them and yanked on Henry's shirt, dragging herself into position behind him. The boy shrugged and raised a hand to Henry.

Tapping Henry's arm, he piped, “Tig!” and sprinted off back towards the tables.

Henry twisted around to stare stonily at the girl.

“I take it you understand the position you're in?” he asked gleefully.

The little girl gulped and nodded.

“Tig!” Henry exclaimed, patting her on the head. “Now go get your brother!”

The girl nodded seriously and darted off to her right where the little boy had been trying to sneak out the door of the main hall. Henry smiled at Lorna and winked again.

They returned to a still empty table, as clearly the rest of their families had more stamina – or patience – and were staying up for another dance. Lorna sighed, but supposed that Henry's bluntness at first may have had something to do with the fact that he was at the time plucking up the courage to ask her to dance.

“Does your head not hurt?” Henry tilted his own head to the side and directed his gaze around past her ears. Her lemon-blonde hair was strained into a sever bun that stood solidly on the ridge of her skull. Truthfully, her head was vaguely in a shadow of agony that she'd long since grown used to – but she wasn't about to let him make her admit to being uncomfortable.

“I am fine,” she replied, “This is the best way for my hair to be kept out of the road.”

Henry raised his eyebrows – which were a deep, chocolatey brown like his hair. Still, he merely shrugged and reached over to the table behind them. In the brief interval of three seconds before he had righted himself, Lorna did her best to absorb the regular beat of the music and try to restore some rhythm to the conversation.

He returned with a fairy cake in his left hand and wrenched a deep bite out of it. He chewed rapidly and swallowed eagerly, like a dog that has just finished chasing a stick being rewarded with a treat. Why did he have to ask such random questions and ramble on about cousins? Why couldn't he talk about something normal, like the weather, or the week's news?

“That's my table,” he explained, once his mouth was clear of cake, “I'm not just stealing someone's food.”

Had he thought that would be what she assumed? Had he been unsure of himself? Lorna had not thought him capable of such doubts. Did he actually realise that he wasn't in fact the most perfect specimen of man to ever walk on the planet of Tayfir?

“I think your hair would look nice down,” he noted, as if his opinion was of even the slightest interest to her, “It might help you relax.”

“I'm perfectly relaxed as I am!” Lorna snapped, then berated herself silently but viciously for letting her anger out.

Henry looked genuinely shocked for a moment, then he leaned back in mock-surrender and was silent. No apology, just silence. Well, at least that was something. A few times in the ensuing blanket of awkwardness, he looked as if he was about to try to continue but he seemed at a loss for words. Maybe he'd used them all up as he'd asked her to dance, if that was even what all that had been for.

Luckily, it was just then that the song finished and the rest of the Delkin family returned to the table. She glanced up from the table to realise that Henry had stood up and was shaking hands with her father.

No. Oh, no.

“Saulus Delkin.” Her father smiled eagerly as he jangled Henry's wrist up and down. Lorna knew that face. That was her father's analysing-the-prospects face. Whenever Saulus was about to attempt a negotiation for Lorna's hand, he got that studious, cunning grin that made Lorna certain he was about to perform an epic magic trick involving fire and doves.

“Henry Franklin,” Henry returned. His features had gone soft and Lorna could no longer picture him taunting her as he had moments before, trying anything to shatter her composure. At Henry's name, Saulus' eyes bugged out of their sockets and his entire form tensed. He seemed to shrug off his surprise and grudgingly let go of Henry's hand.

The rest of Lorna's family had littered themselves around the two men and they parted as Henry made to return to his own table. A man and woman, presumably his uncle and aunt, had just returned to the table and were watching with a muted blend of curiosity and bemusement as Henry tried to extricate himself from the circle of Delkins.

Just as he rounded the corner of his own table, Saulus called out to him over the music that was just starting up again. “Henry, why not take Lorna up? You must be itching to get onto the floor, and Lorna knows her way around a ceilidh.”

Henry levelled his gaze straight into Lorna's eyes and she could see a pendulum lunging back and forth in his brain as he tried to make a decision.

Eventually, the announced, “We've actually already been up,”

Lorna wondered if he was trying to spare her the agony of dancing with him again, if he'd finally understood how gangly and uncomfortable it had made her. She wasn't grateful exactly, perhaps a little relieved that he was human.

Lorna was saved from having to figure out the situation by Henry's uncle approaching from around the side of his table.

“Hello, Lorna. I'm Kerypin, Henry's uncle,” he said. He bowed slightly and Lorna curtsied in acknowledgement. He was a short man, with about as little hair left as is possible without declaring yourself bald.

“Nice to meet –”

Lorna was abruptly cut off by the sound of what one could only presume was an elephant sneezing. As one, their heads whipped around to face the sound, which had come from Henry's family's table. A boy, slightly older than the one currently either chasing or being chased by his sister, was leaning against Henry's aunt, his head lolling on her shoulder. Kerypin shot over to his son as if he'd been magnetised and Henry shot Lorna the first serious look she'd seen on his face all night.

Everyone – including all of Lorna's family and the table on the other side of Henry's – had their eyes fixed on the child as if their gazes had been welded onto his slight figure. His legs shot out and his torso curled with the force of a whooping cough. Lorna glanced at Henry only to realise he wasn't there and had actually flown to the side of his cousin. She wondered if he would slam his hand into the child's back as he had done for her when she'd choked on her juice. Instead, he exchanged a few words with his aunt, who nodded and wiped away from tears.

Lorna understood the terror and paralysis of everyone around the child. Nobody on the planet hadn't heard of the plague that had been roaming the Lekionese kingdom of Roganel. The Arctic land mass had been quarantined for roughly a fortnight now. How could it possibly get to Coupale? Nobody had any idea how it could happen but everybody seemed fairly confident that every cough or splutter meant that it had.

Lorna crossed the floor to stand with her brother, who smiled sadly at her, then turned his face straight back to Henry's cousin. After a few more moments, the coughing wore off a little and the child was able to reign them in. Henry clapped him on the shoulder in an acknowledgement that he'd done well, then cast his eyes around. They landed on Lorna and he beckoned her over with a soft gesture. Lorna obeyed and trotted around the table to stand at Henry's side.

“They're going to take him home,” Henry explained, “But I'm going to stick around because my aunt Marilt says your father has something to talk to us about. I take it you don't need an explanation of what that's about.”

Henry rolled his eyes conspiratorially at her but Lorna refused to be drawn in. He would never make her say a bad word against her father. She knew very well what was coming and she could hope that she was wrong but if Henry was right and Saulus proposed a pairing of the two of them, then Lorna would follow exactly what her father wanted of her. She wouldn't let him down. She would perform her duty.

Some colour was beginning to be restored to the boy's cheeks as he was laid over his uncle's shoulder. A few straggling coughs floated out of him as his ribs knocked against Kerypin's shoulder-blade. For the most part, though, there was mutual understanding both that he would be okay but that he would be put to bed within half an hour. Henry watched him go anxiously with a steep 'V' of a frown creasing his brow.

It took Saulus at most three quarters of the second after Kerypin crossed the threshold for him to whirl on Henry and Lorna. Lorna was impressed by how flexibly Henry's brow sprang back out of the frown and his lips quirked upwards instead. Saulus, his face tanned and his cropped hair only a few shades away from being exactly the same colour, strode determinedly toward Henry. Lorna's father was on a mission – and not even the chairs he clattered into on the way there would thwart him.

“Mr Franklin,” he spluttered, “Would you mind if we had a little discussion, in private?”

Henry jerked back slightly in surprise, his hair flapping against his forehead. When he spoke, his voice wore a shadow of incredulity. “You and Lorna?”

Saulus' narrowing eyes suggested he wanted to frown but was restraining himself. Lorna had always admired his self-control. She had tried to emulate him all her childhood and it had only been recently, at fifteen, that she believed she'd finally managed to replicate his efforts.

“No, you and I, Mr Franklin,” he explained.

A chuckle seeped out of Henry, then he abruptly barred the way to a follow up by crossing his arms and knitting his brows.

“As you wish,” he muttered.

Lorna felt a twinge of momentary curiosity and wondered what would take place between them. She knew roughly what the result would be but she would never know how they reached it. Not that it really mattered, she wouldn't have understood a word of it.

As he led the young Mr Franklin at a determined stride down the hallway, Saulus could feel the frantic nagging of his heart, smashing against his ribs and demanding that he didn't mess this up. He had finally found him, the perfect match. It had taken him fifteen years, but he had finally found the ideal husband for Lorna. He was more well-off than Saulus could ever have hoped for, yet he could barely ask for much more than Saulus could offer. Saulus didn't quite understand the details, but whatever Mr Franklin's father, Rolan Franklin, had done to deserve such a loss in his reputation, the stories always included eleven disgraced duchesses and a few 'runaway' carriages.

It had, of course, occurred to Saulus that there was a high chance that the younger Mr Fraklin would inherit some of his father's worse qualities – but he was willing to take that risk. If he didn't take this chance, he would never get another so perfect. If his daughter married this – admittedly rather distant and slightly confusing – man, then he would be the father-in-law of a man of one of the upper households. He would no longer be the son of a smuggler, the merchant son of a smuggler who could never compare to his father's reputation. He had to make this settlement. Nothing Mr Franklin asked for would be too much. There was nothing he wouldn't find a way to supply him with.

The music of the dance retreated out of hearing as they paced further along the corridor, towards a glossy white door that had been set a few inches into the rust-coloured walls. Saulus oppressed his shuddering breathing and reached for the brass doorknob in front of him.

“The event organiser, Mr Poleder, informed me that this room would be available for a few hours,” Saulus explained, swinging the door inwards for Mr Franklin. “That should be plenty of time.”

Mr Franklin nodded and followed him inside. He moved at a lumbering pace, as if every step he took didn't quite pain him – just bothered him. The young man's expression was that of, well, a young man. He was brooding, sulky and everything else you associate with an eighteen-year-old. Saulus hoped he was responsible enough to handle these proceedings. Kerypin had assured him that his nephew could handle it, that he was very mature. Saulus was not sure that he totally agreed but it mattered so little that he barely even registered he was thinking such thoughts.

He took a deep breath and presented his first offer.

“Henry Franklin!” Saulus boomed, “Given your position, do you really think you have the leverage to make such a demand?”

Saulus sprang from his chair and leaned over Henry as menacingly as he could. He didn't know what Henry was playing at, but he certainly could not take anything seriously, not even slightly. Since Saulus' first offer, Henry hadn't ceased his outrageous demands and ridiculous terms. They both knew he wasn't seriously asking for three mansions and a herd of elephants but it was as if Henry was on a mission to mock everything Saulus knew about marital negotiations.

“Funny that,” Henry mused, “I thought my position was 'sir'.”

“Oh, please!” Saulus spat, “Not even Lorna called you that and we both know it.”

“Fine, I'll concede the third mansion.” Henry rolled his eyes. “But I really don't appreciate you cheaping out on the elephants.”

“Cheaping … out … elephants!” Saulus howled. Saulus hung his head and started counting under his breath. He had to bring himself under control and soon, otherwise Lorna would never forgive him, nor he himself.

Saulus heard Henry sigh and mutter something at himself. Was he berating himself? Had he not intended to wind Saulus up this tight? Saulus very much doubted that. The man was such a genius at it that it had to have been achieved through practice.

“Saulus,” Henry murmured eventually, “I'm not trying to … I just wanted to … Well, tell me this – what do you think your daughter is worth? Honestly, if you had to put a price on her. How much?”

Saulus pictured the face of his daughter: her lemon-blonde hair that always squeezed itself perfectly into position; her pale skin the shade of an angel; her slight figure that appeared frail but you just knew she could use it defend herself from anyone. She was loyal, faithful and furiously determined. She knew how she wanted to live her life and it was just Saulus' good luck that this was also the way he had hoped she would choose to live.

How in the world could he put a price on her?

“My daughter is worth more elephants and mansions than you or I will ever own,” Saulus replied gently, “She is worth more money than ever can exist. You cannot put a price on perfection.”

Saulus swivelled raised his head to face Henry, whose lips had thinned into a tight grimace.

“Why, Henry?” Saulus muttered, “You know that that has no bearing on what we are doing here.”

Henry's ensuing silence was unbearable. Saulus could almost feel the confusion and the frustration seeping from him. He wanted to help, sort of. But how could he do that if Henry didn't even explain the problem?

“Henry, if you just tell me –”

“My family will find us a place to live with our connections. We will take my aunt and uncle's name, rather than my own – for obvious reasons. You will pay for two fifths of the house, which, given that it is only for the two of us, will likely be rather modest. Lorna will accompany me on any missions that Security Command assigns me – don't worry, I don't see much conflict,” Henry added, on seeing Saulus' right index finger shoot up in objection. “The wedding should be before my next mission, in four months. And finally, most importantly, Lorna is not to be pestered about the marriage – about how well she is satisfying her duties.

“Do we have a deal?”

Saulus frowned. From the tension on Henry's face, he was definitely not happy with the deal. The deal itself was possibly as fair as Saulus could have hoped for. He just wished that Henry hadn't looked as if he despised every word out of his mouth as he said it. Saulus extended a wary hand and slipped it into Henry's.

“That is the most reasonable marriage settlement I've ever heard,” Saulus remarked, “Especially for a groom who only met the bride an hour ago. But, why all the elephants?”

Henry shrugged. “I was trying to make a point. Never mind. It doesn't matter.”

It clearly did but Saulus wasn't about to jeopardise the settlement of his life by pushing him further. The young man's face was a perfect representation of the fury and righteousness that Saulus had himself felt at that age. He just hoped Henry was less prone to ranting and raving at the skies than he had been.

“So, a deal then,” Saulus agreed, pumping Henry's hand in one single but pronounced motion.

Before he could pull away, Henry asked, “And an elephant?”

Saulus merely chuckled and withdrew his hand. Whatever he had seen of Henry's vexation, it was gone now. Henry had slid up a perfect mask of charm and Saulus doubted he would see beneath it for a long time. Perhaps Lorna would find a way to tear it off. It was nice to look at, yes, but Saulus worried about what the mask could conceal if it was left alone.

When Saulus and Henry emerged from the room to deliver the verdict of the settlement and to seek Lorna's approval of the match, Lorna agreed eagerly, with a serious glance at her father to show he could count on her to be a good wife. She was still puzzled as to why Henry had agreed to marry so far below his stature – but she wouldn't dream of complaining. Her father had finally snatched her perfect match and now she could put her training into practice.

She waited until the walk home to put her confusion to her father.

“Father, why did he agree to marry so far below his position on the social ladder?” Lorna asked suddenly. She had waited for the first window of silence in the excited chatter about a double wedding that was apparently being planned for the Delkin children. With her father's silence, Lorna presumed that the best route forward was to continue. “I mean, he barely knows me – so it's not as if he's throwing away his future for love, like the Lords do in novels when they marry one of the ladies in waiting of their late wife.”

Saulus' infuriating silence continued for a few moments. He halted as soon as they had all crossed a busy road full of rickety carts trundling down the lumpy cobblestones. Turning to face her directly, Saulus placed a gentle hand on Lorna's shoulder.

“Lorna, you know that Henry doesn't have much of a future to look forward to, or anything special to offer you. His aunt and uncle have four children and a big mortgage. He won't be getting a great deal from them any time soon. And I'm sure you also know why he's living with them in the first place.” Saulus was squirming back and forth with the touchiness of the subject. “What his father has done.”

Lorna was shocked that he had even thought to bring this up. Rumours ran rampant from the far west of Prestelf, right through to the most southern tip of the Rile Peninsula in Kiolmen. Saulus had never been one to believe anything he heard from any of the neighbours, without first-hand evidence. He would never bring up such talk unless he wholeheartedly believed every word of it. But it couldn't possibly be true, could it? Eleven duchesses! Lorna had no idea there were even that many duchies in Kiolmen, never mind eleven who were gloomy or bored enough to be seduced by Rolan Franklin.

Finally, Lorna managed to choke out, “You mean … Rolan actually …?”

“Why else would Henry stoop so low on the social ladder?” Saulus smiled grimly. He then tightened his grip on Lorna's shoulder and tightened the tension in his voice. “I promise you this, though. I am not marrying you off to the son of a sociopathic serial serial adulterer. I am marrying you to the son of a dedicated mother and the brother of two of the sweetest twin sisters you will ever come across – although admittedly his twenty-year-old brother is fast becoming a drunk, by the sounds of what his uncle was telling me. I know you didn't want your marriage to be born out of circumstances such as this but I know you can do amazing things with it. I believe in you.”

Lorna smiled meekly and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Over his shoulder, she saw Olven standing behind Claren, his arms wrapped around his waist. They had gotten engaged mostly for love, Lorna observed. It had just been luck that the marriage proved fortuitous for both sides. She wondered what they would do with their marriage.

As she and her father slid apart, Lorna squeezed herself into a serious mindset and nodded gravely.

“I promise, father, I will not let you down.”