The Charm of Deception - Chapter Two, Part One

My face still stung with the memory of Father's hand landing on it. I put my hand to my face gently, resentfully, rubbing the pain away, as I glared at my feet. Father had no qualms about hitting me, even when someone else was in the room-- yet I was surprised every time he did. I always assumed, hoped, that he'd have the decency to punish me in privacy. He never did.

"You okay?"

"Fine." I snapped, jerking my hand down to my side, decidedly refusing to look up at where Char was walking to my right side.

"You sure. It--"

"Positive." I interupted. No I'm not okay. My face hurts, and my back hurts, and my ankle hurts, and I'm tired, and my Father is a horrible, horrible man, and I don't want to go to that damnable banquet.

If I'd said what I was thinking out loud, I likely would've said it in a single breath. My throat was starting to burn. I was letting myself take his abuse personally, again. Because you're a stupid wench. You know better than to let him get to you.

Char knew better than to keep trying. I wasn't going to talk to him. He probably guessed as much, because he simply took my hand, letting our arms swing, together, as we walked in silence. Down the hall, around the turn, half way down the next hall-- until we finally reached my room.

I didn't so much as look at him as I dropped his hand, grabbing the the worn handle of the door. I didn't want to talk to him. Didn't want him to bother with trying to make me feel better. Didn't want him noticing how deep Father's words and blows cut me this time.

I pushed the door open. I felt a wave of relief wash over me. I was nearly safe, nearly hidden from his careful eye. Once I was alone in my room, I'd be able let my guard down. I didn't know if I wanted to scream, or hit something, or cry. I thought I wanted to do all three. At the same time. But I couldn't let my composure slip while I was in front of any one. Certainly not if that person was Char-- one of the few people whose opinion mattered to me.

"Hey."

I stopped, my back to him. "Hm?"

"I think-- look at me." His hand was on my shoulder, gently, yet insistently, pulling me around to face him. I sighed and looked up into his face, lifting my eyebrows. Are you tryingto make me to fall apart? "I think it was really great that you stood up to him."

No. You're trying to stroke my ego, so I feel better. Like a good friend. I lifted a shoulder. It wouldn't work. His words were sweet, but meaningless. The only thing that could console me was the memory of the look on Father's face half a moment before he hit me. The knowledge that Father would brood on my words for a while. Neither did much to relieve the throbbing in my face. To sedate the anger that his blow stirred up, at the reminder that my own father would hit me. "Mm."

"I mean it."

"Thanks then." I shrugged his words off, looking over my shoulder, into my spacious room. My haven. So close, yet so inaccessible. "It's not like you haven't done it plenty of times before."

"That's different."

I sighed irritably. It's always different. It's no big deal if you do something, but if I do it, it suddenly becomes an act of heroism. "Why? Because you're an adult, and I'm still a mere child?"

"I'm no more of an adult than you are. I won't even be considered one for another three months. And no, it's because I have a safety net that you don't."

I hesitated, frowning, trying to find a way to snarl at him. I didn't want him making me feel better. I wanted to be angry with Father for a while longer. "...What?"

"I'm the Prince." I'm aware. "One could be beheaded for hitting me half as hard as he just hit you. You have no such protection. He can beat you black and blue, and no one will say anything to him."

I bit my lip. He shouldn't want to, though.

"He shouldn't, but he can." Char's eyes were intense, every speck of his attention focused on me. "It doesn't take any courage to talk back to a man who can't lay a finger on you. But a man who has the authority to beat you senseless? That's brave."

I smiled slightly. He looked so young, boyish, sincere. It doesn't matter that I've got a horrible Father. I'm still lucky. How many girls can say that they have a Prince at their beck and call?

"Eh, I dunno."

"I do."

I felt my cheeks get warm. As I started to lay my hand on my face, I noticed that Char was holding them again. I did smile. "Thank you."

"Anytime, My Lady." He bowed and backed away, smiling at me.

I nodded to him, taking a step back, closing the door. I bit my lip, still smiling, as I walked across the room, behind my screen, and began picking at the knot in the twine. I knew Char didn't understand that Father's words hurt me far more than his fists ever could. That the bruises he left weren't nearly painful as the knowledge that I'd been hit. It's still nice that he tries to understand you. No one else does.

The door to my room opened as the trousers fell to my ankles. I peeked around the screen, and saw a maid, Itani, coming in with two buckets of steaming water. She was the only slave, besides Eldan, who was even close to my age-- and she was older than Char. She should've been married with a family by now.

She set the buckets by the tub and glanced up, brushing strands of her fiery hair out of her face. She straightened when she saw me. "Miss Elstan."

"Hello, Itani." I ducked back behind the screen, and laid a hand on my face. At least I know that when Father's tormenting me, he can't be terrorizing my friends. "How are you this afternoon?"

"Fine. How 'bout yourself?"

Horrible. "I'm fine, too. Thanks."

I pulled my-- Eldon's-- old tunic off, carefully folding it. I bent and began folding the trousers.

"So sorry to make you wait, young miss. I didn't figure you'd be up so soon."

Char cut Father's beating a bit short. "Father reminded me that there was a banquet tonight."

"Aye."

I grunted in response before squirming out of my undershorts, carefully lying them atop my little stack of clothes.

"And you sound just thrilled about it."

"As happy as ever." I agreed flatly, glaring at the screen as I rolled my play clothes in the trousers, and slid them down in an extra pillowcase that I kept for that very reason. I tossed the bag around the screen, toward my bed, watching as it rolled a few times and stopped just short of rolling under.

"They're not so bad."

I struggled out of the rest of my clothes and peeked around the screen once more. My bath was drawn. I crossed the room in a few bounds, trying to cover myself, the air cold on my bare skin. I splashed down into the bath, sinking down until only my head stuck above the bubbles. "Are so."

"Well they don't sound so bad."

I let my hair down, running my fingers through the tangled, mousy curls. She didn't know what she was talking about. That much was obvious. She expected me to answer. That, too, was obvious from the way she raised her eyebrows at me.

I didn't have a one, yet. So, rather than think up a hasty response, I dunked under the water instead. I ran my fingers all through my hair, carefully seperating strands so that the water could reach clear to my scalp. The warm water felt nice, gently washing away the grime, only barely stinging my wounds.

How should one go about correcting someone nearly twice their age, but still very wrong in her views? It wouldn't be easy.

I scrubbed my face with my bare hands, the water just warm enough to prickle my nose. The warmth envolping me partially washed away my bad mood and the depression it brought with it. Baths were enjoyable. The trick was to just pretend there wasn't a ball waiting for me after.

I stayed under the water until my chest burned for air, and then lingered a moment longer. Finally I sat up, gulping in deep breaths of the dear, sweet air that was so easily missed when I seperated my lungs and it. Itani was standing over me, ready with a large pile of soft hairsoap on her palm. She started at the tip of my hair, and worked the goo ever nearer to my head.

"Princes, and Dukes, and lots of fine food and wine." She muttered. Her fingernails felt good on my head.

"The wine is nice." I agreed, tipping my head back so she could reach my hair easier. I didn't get to drink often-- only when Father wasn't paying attention at banquets, and on rare occasions during services at the Cathedral.

"Pft."

She lifted a pitcher of water and dumped it over my head, being careful to keep the soap bubbles out of my eyes. I quickly pulled the wash cloth across myself, stealing the layer of grime that my skin accumulated since my last bath.

A few minutes later, after I'd enjoyed the effects of the bath and been rinsed, I stepped from the tub, shivering, even after she wrapped a fluffy white towl around me. Itani wrapped my hair in a second towel, leaving me to dry myself.

"What I wouldn't give to be in your position." She muttered quietly, to herself, as she picked through the bottles on my desk.

"Hah! You only think you'd want this." I crossed my arms after I'd dragged the towel across my body, soaking up the water. "You wouldn't really, if you actually had to put up with all this."

"Oh, yes, I pity you, having to 'put up' with suitors falling over themselves to talk to you, getting to wear these lovely dresses, and this sweet smelling spray." She squirted me with a bottle of fragrance that smelled of lavander blossoms and vanilla.

I wrinkled my nose and took the bottle from her. Turning it around, I squirted her, once, squarely on the chest. Payback. "Fine then. You go around smelling like something picked from Mama's garden then dunked in Father's coffee creamer."

She smiled, shaking her head, taking the bottle away from me. "Lord Elstan spent a large sum of money on that spray, Miss, so don't go wasting it on me...and he prefers that you call him Papa."

I lifted a shoulder. I never cared much about what my Father wanted. To refer to him as 'Papa' would sound far too warm and familiar for the nearly non-existant relationship my Father and I shared. I only humored him when I was around him, because I was tired of hearing his lecture.

Itani helped me into a robe, before sitting me down in a chair by the window, and letting my hair down. I sighed deeply as I looked at the wooded mountain that rose up behind our manor. The waning afternoon sunlight cast long shadows over the quiet stand of trees. I flinched as she pulled a knot free.

"So sorry, Miss." Itani murmured.

"It's alright." I resisted the urge to rub the spot that throbbed gently on the side of my head.

I closed my eyes, reflecting, as she continued to fight the knots in my hair. It wasn't difficult to tell just where I'd made my mistakes. I didn't allow for Father possibly getting home early-- he nearly always stayed late with the King, laughing and talking about people long ago passed from this world, both famous, and people related to our families.

I didn't have a pair of long pants waiting to slip into, if I should get caught, as I did. I should've. I shouldn't have talked back. That never ended well for me. Ever. The last time I talked back to Father, I ended up with a bloodied nose. I knew better.

At least Char was there to step between us. To draw Father's attention away from me. To remind Father that even boys could vex him, just as easily as I usually did. I shook the thoughts from my head as Itani finished tying my hair up in braids and walked to my closet.

I sighed when I saw her choice. She was one of my closest friends, but she had a rotten taste in clothing-- and came out toting a dress made of fabric that looked like half-wilted lilac blossoms, and was cut far too low for anyone of the female persuasion to wear without showing twice what she should.

"This dress looks so nice on you."

"What's there of it does." I agreed flatly. fingering the neckline of the dress. "Don't I have anything that's...not so...indecent?"

"This is one of your newest." She protested, lying it across the bed.

"No, my yellow dress is newest." I pouted, sighing loudly as she pulled the robe from my shoulders and began lacing me into the undergarments.

"It was the dress that your wore to the Resurgence Festival."

"So?"

"Spring colors in summer?"

"Yeah." I didn't see anything wrong with it. It wasn't like colors or dresses had expiration dates on them anywhere.

"No."

"But I can actually move in it, and it's not nearly as--oof." I groaned as she pulled the strings on my corset tight. Panting shallowly, I grasped the post of my bed canopy and held on for dear life as Itani squeezed my corset even smaller. I squeaked. "I yield."

She giggled softly, pulling my girdle just a bit tighter before tying it off, and smoothing it down with another garment. I couldn't breathe. She didn't care. She continued to flit about the room, forcing me into tiny garments-- corsets, slips, crinolines, skirts, and dresses. Each making it a bit harder to catch my breath than the moment before.

Finally she stepped back to look me over. After a long, strained moment she nodded. "You look good, young Miss."

I grumbled something, impossible to understand, I knew. I wasn’t even sure what I meant to say.

I felt like that wet cat that just stood and glared after it dragged itself out of a barrel of water that it’d been dumped in. Lacking dignity, and not quite scary—yet foreboding enough that one would stop to think a moment, before teasing it.

Itani did hesitate, before deciding to grab my shoulders and gently push me into the chair that sat in front of a large mirror. She stood behind me, quickly pulling out the braids, running her fingers through the partially-crimped hair.

“Ow.” I complained as she tugged at a knot. It didn’t really hurt. Not compared to the constant ache the corset brought to my side; the way it jabbed into my ribs and half-stabbed me with each breath I took. I didn’t have enough breath to complain about the girdle. I wouldn’t, until I could get out of the damnable contraption.

“Oh, that didn’t hurt you.”

I started as I heard Mama’s voice. I snapped my head up to look in the mirror, and saw her standing behind me, in the center of the room. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I could tell.” She smiled slightly.

I twisted around in my chair to look at her. She looked very pretty. Her brown hair was pinned up and tied with white ribbons. Her face was covered in the same gunk I was sure that Itani would want to smear on my face in a moment. It looked nice on her, but she didn’t need it. She was prettier than most without it on, and she didn’t look like Mama when she wore it.

The dark blue velvet of her skirts swished as she took a step closer to us. I saw she was wearing her good heels—the silver ones whose straps were embedded with fake gems. They matched her silver trimmed earrings and necklace. I took a breath. The corset jabbed me again, harder, the stab far more severe than ever before.

I half-yelped and turned back around, clutching my side, panting, pouting. Itani went back to fixing my hair; fighting with the curls that bounced to and fro, ignoring her instructions to lie in their places. I watched Mama in the mirror, silently walking nearer us, watching.

“Are you okay, Rana, dearest?” She asked softly, after watching me a moment.

I nodded, still sulking.

She was beside me. Her hand gently landed on the one that I pressed into my side, the tips of her fingers wrapping around mine. I looked up and found her looking down at me kindly, concern in her eyes. “Are your under dressings getting too tight?”

They’ve been too tight. I nodded. “They’re okay, though.”

“We’ll get you some new ones, soon.” She assured me, smiling. Her smile could make anything better. Father and the suitors were never so scary, night was never as dark, and banquets were never so bad—when Mama was with me. She was so strong. So beautiful.

I read in books, written by Father’s friends, never missed by him as I took them from his library, that parents were a child’s first heroes. A father was a little girl’s first love, a mother her first friend. But as she got older, she would grow away from her parents, finding a young man to be her lover and her friend.

I didn’t know how true that was.

My Father and I always, since as long as I could remember, had our differences. I could understand that. The relationship that Father and I shared was a strange one. One where the parent throws fits and shouts too much, and the child tries to avoid the chaos.

The books were right, though, when they said that little girls wanted to be like their mothers. That in the eyes of a daughter, her mother was the most beautiful woman in the world. The smartest and most talented. My mother certainly was. Only, that didn’t change as I grew older.

She didn’t have the answers to all my questions any more, and I began to see that even Mama could make mistakes—but she was still smart, and still talented, and still the most beautiful woman I’d ever met, both inside and out.

She stepped behind me once more, her fingers carefully taking up the curls that were doing their best to evade Itani. She gently weaved the more unruly ones into a braid that started near my left temple, wrapped around my head, and ended just below my right ear. As she began sliding pins into my hair to hold the braid in place, Itani knelt beside me and began smearing a thick layer of maquillage on my face.

I was patient for several minutes, as Mama gently tugged on my hair and Itani continued to spread that foul-smelling mousse on my face, none of us saying a word, Mama gently humming. I sighed deeply. They go through so much trouble to make me look older than I really am, to trick the boys into thinking that they want to marry me.

Itani moved on to the powder that she always insisted on dusting onto my face; the concoction that left me so pale I looked nearly ghostly. I wonder why it is that Father is so eager to get me married off-- is it the dowry, or simply the fact that I'll no longer be here to bother him?

Itani pulled a stick from a tub of black paste, and began attacking my eyelashes with it. I pushed her away. "Enough."

"I'm almost done."

"You are done." I ducked away from both Itani and Mama, standing up, retreating the best I could without tripping over my restrictive skirts.

"Rana." Mama said warningly, tiredly.

I was tired, too. Tired of getting poked and prodded, and cinched into dresses that were three sizes too small. "Mama."

She sighed. "Just cooperate this once, won't you, dearest?"

I sighed too, trying to cross my arms. The tight silk was tight on my back, and refused to stretch any further-- leaving my shoulders straining, my arms not quite crossed properly. I couldn't breathe. "It's easy for me to agree to cooperate, but cooperating while you two make me the most uncomfortable I've been since the last banquet is decidely...harder."

"Oh, babydoll." She cooed, stepping forward and wrapping her arms around me. I laid my head on her shoulder, taking deep breaths, trying to calm myself. My eyes were burning, and I wasn't quite sure why.

I thought I'd calmed myself down. Thought I was ready to put on a strong front, and maintain it throughout the night. Thought I already started acting. Yet, warm tears were dribbling out of my eyes, down my cheeks.

My corset dug into my sides as I heaved a deep breath, choking me, making me gasp. Mama murmured instructions to Itani, thanking her, sending her away. She carefully guided me backward, onto a small, upholstered bench.

I felt her unlacing my dress. "Oh no, don't do that."

She ignored me.

"Itani could barely get that fastened the first time." I hiccuped. "I'm getting fat."

"Oh yes, you're just a whale." She answered flatly.

I felt my eyes go wide a moment, and I snapped my head towards her, before my mind caught the tone she used. I knew I was heading that way, but I never dreamed that Mama would so readily admit-- Oh...

She winked at me, and, after a moment, I grinned. I wasn't a whale. Yet. She was right. I was worrying about nothing. I was still far slimmer than most girls my age, even if I was starting to get fat.

She pulled something else free, and I felt my corset get instantly looser. I sucked in a deep breath, my chest tingling with the fresh oxygen I could finally supply it. Mama relaced my dress as I gulped in great lungsful of the precious air that I'd dearly missed in the short time we'd been separated.

"Oh, thank you." I sighed, too relaxed to remember why I'd been crying.

"Certainly." She hugged me from behind, before going back to playing with my hair. "There's no need at all for a poor girl to be laced into that thing so tightly. A well poised woman is very good-- a woman with missing braincells, died from oxygen depravation, is not."

It's too late for a good portion of my braincells, I'm afraid, Mama.

She sat down on the bench beside me a moment later, and I turned toward her. She stroked my face, looking down into my face, smiling distantly. "You're so very beautiful."

I smiled, looking down, my face getting warm. "Thank you."

I kissed her hand as it trailed across my lips, her eyes still wandering across my face, mind elsewhere. I wondered what she was thinking about. I bet I knew. Do you wonder how Rayll, or that other girl, would look, if they were still alive?

I knew I did. I wondered often. As I looked at myself in the mirror, as I nursed the various wounds Father often inflicted, as I talked to Char and Eldan. I wondered how my siblings should look. I wondered how different my life would be, if I wasn't eldest-- if Char and I would be so close if I had a brother of my own to confide in.

There was a sharp rap on the door, pulling us both from our thoughts. I frowned. Go away.

"That would be your Papa."

"I know." My voice was colder than I intended it to be. And I wish he would go away and leave us be.

"...You really should try to be the bigger person and patch things up with him."

No. I'm not even a third his age. I will not be the reasonable adult, while he continues to act like a child. My father will mature before I will. "Mm."

Another sharp, impatient rap on the door. "Darrana!"

I glared at the door from well within the room as Mama pulled it open.

"Almost." She leaned against the doorframe seductively, smiling at him. "Though I'm not half so pretty as she."

I felt a smile creep onto my lips, despite myself.

"You're twice the woman." Papa disagreed, eaning forward and kissing Mama squarely on the lips. He pulled away, his eyes locking on her bosom a long moment before wandering back to her face. "And you look absolutely ravishing tonight, my dear."

Bleck. I crossed my arms, actually able to accomplish the feat, now that Mama loosened my corset-- and made gagging noises as I walked toward them.

Father cut their next kiss short, turning to look at me. Mama chuckled softly. Papa's face twisted into an ugly sneer the moment he saw me. "Oh, good. You are ready."

"I always am." I stopped just out of his arm's reach, and glared as his eyes flitted from my head to foot, evaluating me.

"As good as you get, I suppose." He said after a moment, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

"As good as you need." I retored. I looked plenty good enough to get him a sizeable dowry. Which is all you're concerned about anway, so you can just--

"Come, now. Let's have an enjoyable evening, shall we?" Mama cut.

"At a banquet?" I lifted my eyebrows.

"Yes." She answered, stepping between us before Father could answer. "Won't you lead the way, my dear?"

Father murmured something, glaring past Mama a long moment before shaking his head and offering Mama his arm. She took it, and they started down the hall. I quickly fell into my place, half a step behind them, trying to ignore the fact that I'd waste my entire evening at a banquet. I'd learned that that was the best way to prepare myself-- ignore the reality, until the situation was upon me. Then I had no option but to take the evening in stride.

"There's my pretty girl!" I looked up, just in time to see Father wrap Fania in a tight hug.

I closed my eyes a moment, focusing on keeping myself relaxed. Father's favoritism wasn't a new thing. Father preferred Fania to me, even before she was big enough to hang on to his every word and strive with every speck of her being to be a proper young lady. She hadn't shared a womb with his son. She wasn't unclean from her birth. Stop.

"Hello, Papa!" She sounded far too cheerful. I opened my eyes, mere slits, to look at them. They made quite a pair, with their interest in banquets and balls and social relations. Fania would make Father even more proud, when she was old enough to court. She'd play his games.

I knew he looked forward to that day.

"You look simply dazzling, dearest." Father held her at arm's length. "I've always wondered how a child of mine could look as beautiful as you."

"Leikos!" Mama chastised, outraged on my behalf.

"No, it's okay, Mama. I know who his favorite is." I snapped, glaring at Papa, ignoring both Fania and Mama. "I only wonder why it is that you insist on dragging me along to these damnable gatherings, when you have such a desireable daughter who goes with you willingly."

"Rana!"

"It would look poorly if my eldest did not attend." Father snarled, stepping toward me. "That is the only reason, I assure you."

"Oh, right. I forgot that about that." I wasn't backing down. I didn't care if he hit me. Didn't care if he busted my lip wide open. I almost hoped he did. So I'll be spared one night of this torment. "Your reputation certainly can't take any more poor marks, can it?"

"That is quite enough!" Mama was between us, glaring back and forth. "Both of you! Good heavens."

I sighed, clenching my teeth, looking away from them. My eyes landed on Fania. She was nearly three years younger than me, only having turned eleven a few weeks previous, but already showed the promise of a proper young lady.

She was nearly as tall as I was, which was to be expected, as I'd done little growing since I was her age. Her hair was a light brown, nearly blond, and hung around her shoulders in carefully arranged bunches of curls. Her skin her was pale, her disposition quiet and mild.

Everything that I wasn't, as I stood with my hands on my hips and teeth clenched, trying to choke off the flood of insults that threatened to spew from my mouth.

"Calm down, Rana. Papa." She said, her eyes wide, innocent. "You're scaring me."

Then I would hate for you to see something truly scary. I sighed again and crossed my arms, looking away from them all. "Well? Are we going, or are we just going to stand here all evening?"

Papa muttered something under his breath, so quietly I couldn't tell what he said. I watched as he offered Mama his arm-- really just thrusting his elbow at her-- then started down the hall at a brisk pace. Fania and I fell into step behind them.

I struggled to keep up with his pace, as my high heeled shoes made my footing wobbly and unpredicatable, and my corset squeezed me so tightly I felt faint. I wasn't about to ask Papa to slow down. My pride could not abide by that. I'll keep going until I lose consciousness...then I'll insist on being carried to bed, and skip this damnable banquet altogether.

"Papa....Papa, slow down!" Fania gasped, delicately fanning herself. "I simply cannot keep up with this manly pace."

I rolled my eyes at her way of describing it, though I was glad that she asked. Papa wouldn't do anything to make my journey any easier. If anything, he might've sped up, if he knew I was struggling to keep up with him. But Fania. Fania was his baby girl, and he instantly slowed his pace.