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My name is Arianna Goldbest, or possibly FitzMichael. I’m a stain on the family, a dishonour to the name, for I had the temerity to be born out of wedlock. One might presume my parents should be the ones to shoulder this terrible burden but they’re not here. Mother, devoted parent that she is, retired to a convent the moment I was weaned. For, yes, her father insisted she feed me herself, part of her punishment for being beguiled.
And my father? His identity has never been confirmed. Mother claimed it was the king, and the household does receive a monthly stipend from the Royal Treasury for my education and upkeep – it’s the only reason I’m not sleeping in the stables and am able to read and write. It seems the Treasury likes to check occasionally that its funds are being used as intended.
Grandfather learned that the hard way, I’m told. I was around five and relegated to the kitchens when a man with a long nose and an expression like a bad smell demanded I be brought forth to demonstrate my progress in reading, writing, deportment, drawing, and two other languages. Which, of course I couldn’t, because the money sent for my teachers had been spent on Grandfather’s horses.
After that day, I’ve had tutors aplenty, my legitimate cousins are receiving a wonderful education on my coin, and I have one nice dress for being presented to the official at dinner. If they insist on more meetings than one, I borrow gowns from my cousin Johanna and she’s given new ones to atone for the indignity.
And so it has gone on, year after year. I found some measure of escape and reward in my lessons and the approval of my tutors, although they fast learned to show their approval of me in ways that didn’t highlight my cousins’ lack of interest, application, and basic intelligence.
I hoped, once I was old enough to be considered for a marriage alliance, to be summoned to court, for even a bastard daughter of the king is something of a catch. But nothing. And so here I am, in my twenty-second summer, still in lessons, still unwed, promised to no one, when even Johanna, with her long nose, long teeth and perpetual sneer is affianced. Not that I’d have her fiancé mind. He’s as old as Uncle and she’s to be stepmother to three utterly revolting children, the oldest of whom is a mere six months younger than her.
But he’s rich, and she’s been promised fine dresses and rooms at court, so she’s happy.
I would like to add that I am not without my admirers. None of the local gentry of course, they take their cue from my uncle and barely tolerate me, although a few of the sons have tried to get a little friendlier than I liked over the years. Such a pity that my lessons included some very pointed ones in self-defence from the head of our castle guard.
After Sir Tarquin’s chinless twerp of a youngest son pinched my bottom in the middle of the Great Hall, and I stabbed him with the nearest candle spike, they’ve all kept their hands to themselves.
So I’m free to study and right now, I’m studying geography with Tutor Farleigh. She came to us six months ago and scared my cousins off within two lessons on place names and imports and exports. As soon as they were gone, the tone of the lessons moved. I’m still learning about the movement of goods, but within the web of treaties, and trade routes, and who’s who among the hierarchy of power across the ring and high kingdoms.
I already knew of the four Ring Kingdoms, and how we enclose a great plateau among the mountains that is the High Kingdom. Even Johanna can recite their names and the names of the capitals (whether she matches the right city to the right country is another matter). But Tutor Farleigh is sharing a great deal more; how the power is balanced between all five kingdoms, and how the High Kingdom’s Seers provide their king with political power above the others, but that he rarely takes advantage of it. It seems there’s history there I have yet to be taught, and my tutor is taking her own sweet time in sharing it.
“Why don’t the Ring Kingdoms have Seers?”
Tutor Farleigh looks up from the books she’s reading while I dutifully calculate the how much time it takes to travel between our capital city and that of our neighbour, Grattamland. “It appears to be a product of the High Kingdom’s environment.”
That is not helpful, and my look tells her so.
She continues. “Seers are born only in the High Kingdom, but don’t have to be of High Kingdom descent. One of the strongest in our current generation is the child of two artisans who relocated from here. They also have to stay in the High Kingdom to maintain their Sight. Seers who travel to the lowlands, as they call the Ring Kingdoms, find their gift drains away, like wine out of a barrel, as they use it. They have to return to the highlands if they wish to regain it.”
“If they wish?”
“Future or Far Sight are not comfortable abilities to possess. Some prefer to let them go, and live normal lives.”
Why does it feel like she’s speaking from experience? She forestalls further questions by closing her book and standing. “I have a meeting with your uncle. He believes it’s time for you move on to etiquette lessons.”
Which means he wants Johanna to have more etiquette lessons. I don’t know why, it’s not like any of the previous ones worked.
Tutor Farleigh smiles at my scowl. “I have another place I need to be soon, so this is for the best. You should agree to the lessons but insist on a teacher who can instruct on the cultural mores of all your neighbour kingdoms as well. I’m sure you’ll find it valuable.”
With that, she leaves, and I’m left frowning at my travel calculations. Her advice is sound, and since Uncle daren’t refuse my requests when if comes to subjects, tutors, or books, for fear of the Treasury stipend being reduced, I will soon be learning how to insult, and flirt across five kingdoms, rather than just one.
Until the new tutor can be found, and delivered though, I am free to do as I wish.
Much of the time, I wish to be at the bottom of the orchard, in the occasional hope that Kit will be there. There’s no pattern to his visits but they’re the bright light of my life and I hope one day I’ll be able to convince him to take me along too when he leaves one day. For now, he winks, and kisses me, and tells me to be patient, that matters will unfold in their own good time. It was he who recommended Tutor Farleigh though, so he’s up to something, even if he won’t tell me what, yet…
And so, I wait, for what I don’t know, but there was a Royal Messenger admitted to Uncle’s study not ten minutes ago, and I can’t help but feel the subject of the loud conversation now underway is me.
The DNA of Stories 