Her eyes drift over his lanky frame before speaking, “Are you Miss Tyddle?”
He lets a snort slip and follows it up with a couple of huffs and puffs. “She is my wife. I have every right to be in there.”
Acid hits the back of my tongue. All I picture is a scrambled egg and porridge mess on the floor, and I hope this poor woman doesn’t have to be the one to clean up after me.
There is a tightness in my chest, but before things get worse the woman speaks again. “You don’t have a wife. And if you don’t sit down and wait your turn, I assure you never will.” She points a finger at his empty seat until he finds his way back.
I don’t know who this woman is, but I want her to be my best friend. It’s like she’s in my head and saying all the things I want to.
Put in his place, the man clunks down in his seat. His dark color transforms to red, a red that makes me think he is about toblow. Wanting to avoid further annoyance, I slip into the room and let the woman shut the door behind me.
To my surprise, we don’t enter a room. It’s more so a large hall with towering columns. Thick stone pillars line both sides, forming arches above that hold warm light from high windows. Pockets of gold guide us to another set of doors.
Between the pillars are stone figures of Haymel’s greatest divinities, or so legends say. Supposedly, divinities were once beings with supernatural abilities who ruled over our world and shaped a lot of kingdoms we know today.
Whether or not I believe in the legends, my favorite is, and has always been, Panntra, the divinity of night, who was also said to be the ruler of what we now call the Land of Moonlight. In all the images I’ve seen of her, she is portrayed almost thief-like—wearing a mask that covers everything on her face but the eyes.
The statue in the council building is different, though. Not only is she over ten feet tall, but a skintight dress snuggles curves and holds crisscrossed beaded material that runs up and down her body. Her face, like usual, is covered. Floating above an open palm of the large statue is a diamond. Moving farther into the hall, I catch fragments of light bouncing from a cobweb-like string that suspends the massive gem, and I wonder if the stone is real or a fake one only meant for display.
Pulling my gaze away from Panntra, I examine the other divinities and notice a quietness about the room, one that makes me wish I brought my sketch pad. The number of outfits my mind can conjure up in such a tranquil place would be infinite.
“An abhorrent practice,” the woman mumbles.
Pulling my attention away from the details of the grand structure and craftsmanship of the walkway, I register that she is speaking to me. “I’m sorry, what?” My voice comes out a little more creaky than usual.
“Young ones having to be married off well before their time. And for what, the promise of land and moinlings.” She stops quickly, creating a screech that echoes around us. “My name is Ivy. Ivy Mayfoot.”
Everyone knows members of the council like to target unmarried people over the age of twenty and use them as bargaining pieces for trade coins, what we call moinlings in our kingdom. All of which helps them fund thisgloriousinstitution they have created, and I’m sure the plush lives they live outside of it. At an unwed twenty-two years old, I’m just ripe for the picking.
“Has anyone ever denied council?” My question causes immediate regret as I watch her eyes widen like moons.
“Deny?” Her face returns to normal as she processes the question more. “I mean, technically, the Queen has not signed off on these marriages, therefore they are not law. But I don’t think she would be against such arrangements, if presented to her. These men were appointed by Her Majesty, they act in her name. Plus, people are too afraid of the power the council holds to turn down such unions. There is only one person I know to have refused council. Kyla Lahorn.”
“Lahorn? Like lonely Lady Lahorn?” She is the village spinster with an awfully bad attitude. I never considered why people call her that, but if she did turn down the council in her day, then that would make sense.
“Yes, and she’s still reaping those consequences.” Ivy places both her hands on my shoulders. Wrinkles run over her dark skin and her hold on me is a bit weak. “I won’t be the one to advise you in taking a stand against council. They are bitter old men with nothing better to do than make your life a living hell if you revolt. In the end, you’re the one who has to live with the consequences of your decision, so make it for yourself.”
I nod and see my voluminous curls bounce in her iridescent green irises. “Have you ever had to make this decision?”
She pulls away and her face drops like I’ve just offended her. But it only takes a half second for her to find a smile again. “Yes, I have. It’s been many years since I was in your shoes. A moment that undoubtedly changed my life.” She exhales gravely before continuing, “Deep breaths, Ariah. It will be over in no time.” But as good-natured as she’s been, the words fall short, and I don’t find the comfort she intends.
Before entering, I start digging in my pockets. My chest tightens even more when my hands come up short. I always carry it with me. Why can I not find it when I need it most? A frustrated exhale catches the attention of Ivy, but before she can ask what’s wrong, I dig a little deeper. Resting beneath an extra hair tie and my canister of needles, I find my medicinal spray bottle.
I release a quick spritz of the bottle’s contents into my mouth and hold my breath. My father says his concoction works best if I hold it in and let the mixture move into my lungs.
My eyes slip shut as I exhale, but when I open them, Ivy is staring, not rudely, but she watches me with concern. Once my airways loosen, I give her a nod. Not because I’m ready for what awaits me on the other side, but because we’ve stalled long enough.
She knocks twice on the glossy oak and seconds later the double doors swing wide, revealing strangers who know exactly who I am.
Inside, there are five men in total, and immediately I pick out features that stand out in each of them. Terrible toupee, mole under left eye, snow beard, receding hairline, and monocle. All are decrepit and look rather annoyed with how slowly I stroll into the center of the room. But can they blame me for taking my time? They want to sell me off to a man whom I’ve only met thismorning and have no desire to marry. They act as if I’m some kind of livestock they can barter with and then have the nerve to be bothered by my leisurely pace.
Every movement is like making my way through a labyrinth of thorns. My body pricks with pain the closer I get to my judges.
Each of the men sit behind what looks like a pulpit. Beyond them are windows that take up most of the wall and allow in yellow rays that cast light on marble sculptures. All of it seems too sanctified for the men who occupy the space.
“It’s about time,” the man straight in front of me mutters. He pushes the golden rims of his glasses higher on his nose, before smoothing the snowy white of his mustache and following the hair down to his beard. “I don’t like waiting, Miss Tyddle.”
A pitter-patter of feet rushes across the floor, and I catch Ivy scrambling to a desk where she picks up a quill pen and begins scribbling on her paper.
