Book 3: Chapter 21 – The Dance of the Seven Veils [Part 1]
Book 3: Chapter 21 - The Dance of the Seven Veils [Part 1]
Dancing is poetry with arms and legs.
- Charles Baudelaire.
Anaselena’s gift of foresight—troubling if Seraphina thought on it too long—was, at least, convenient for communication. If Seraphina wrote a letter to her mother at her desk, informing her that she meant to break her engagement to the Crown Prince Velens, Anaselena would sense it well before the post ever reached her. As the young girl remembered, her mother could not read the words themselves so much as perceive the letter’s intent and the emotions impressed upon it. It was a strange business, and the duchess had once tried to explain it: each Oracle’s sight manifested in its own way. The Duchess had told a much younger Seraphina as much one afternoon, when the girl had complained that her own gift had not yet awakened. Still, the whole thing was filled with a lot of mumbo-jumbo, mystical nonsense, she thought.
Seraphina sighed, and Eloise, small and as delicate as a porcelain doll, looked at her with very obvious sympathy. The morning sun slid past the room’s windows and made a soft halo of the girl’s tousled, just-out-of-bed hair.
“Lady Seraphina, are you quite sure about this decision—and is it truly yours to make?” Eloise asked, fingers fussing through her hair. “If it were my father, he would be most cross.”
“Dear Eloise, even if my father were to disown me for this, I would not sway from my course.” Seraphina kept her voice mild, though her jaw had set without her noticing. “Tell me—could you imagine living with someone who does not love you? Or, in my case, living a life of polite humiliations, a sham of a union with there being nothing beneath the surface?”
Eloise considered, eyes dropping to her hands. “Ladies of our station, and even those of the merchant classes, are not said to marry for love. It is the lucky ones who enjoy such a luxury. Those matches belong to a troubadour’s songbook.” She drew a small breath, gathering courage. “Still, I believe—no, I hope—that when I am wed, I may grow to love my lord husband in time, and that he in turn may grow to love me.”
Seraphina closed her eyes for a heartbeat. This world’s rules were not her own, and she would gain nothing by scolding the bars of the cage. When she looked again, her smile was gentler. “What is wrong, Eloise, with wishing for more? First we wish, then we ask, and then—if we have the spine for it—we demand. And, a demand is only as strong as the will behind it.”
Eloise’s brow pinched. “My parents would say that the heart must yield to prudence. That compromises are… practical.”
“Then seek balance,” Seraphina said, leaning in. “Redress. If they force you to compromise in matters of the heart, let us see what can be stolen back elsewhere—terms, timing, the man himself. I will help you, in whatever way I can, to carve out the space for choice—if not perfect freedom, then a portion of it. This is your life, Eloise.”
Eloise bit her lip. “Lady Seraphina, that is far too gracious, but to go against—”
“Again,” Seraphina said, quiet but immovable, “your life is your own to live. Your father will not be the one to bear the children who will continue the line. Your father will never know the pain of bringing life into this world. That labor is ours, and it is past time the privilege matched the burden.”
Eloise gasped, half-shocked, half-delighted, and clapped a hand to her mouth. “That is a scandalous line of thinking!”
“Scandalous?” Seraphina let out a soft laugh. The white serpent curled on her lap lifted its head, tasting the air with a flick of its tongue. “A workman is paid for his day’s labor. Why should we not demand a fair price for ours? We are born with inherent worth, are we not? Let us use it for ourselves as well as for our families.” Her eyes danced. “Tell me, Eloise, are you in love with Sir Gravens?”
A flush climbed Eloise’s neck. She glanced toward the window, then back. “I… must admit I have felt certain things for the good knight. But to say I am in love…”
“You need not hide from me,” Seraphina teased. “We are far too close for that.” She softened the jest with a kind look. “If you were in love, which you have just insisted you are not, I would not be against such a match. He is competent, if a touch rigid in his thinking. You would be happier with him than with some crusty old lord.” Seraphina tipped her head, mischief showing. “Or, I must add, a certain naughty crown prince.”
At that, they both laughed, warm and helpless, until Eloise pressed a knuckle to the corner of her eye to chase away the tears of mirth.
“But seriously,” Seraphina went on, letting the laughter ebb, “I think the Lady de Savant has designs for him. Dangerous designs she may lack the courage to see through. I cannot yet tell whether it is a passing fancy or something deeper. And as for Desdemona—hers is a particular family situation.” Her tone cooled. “That is all I can say on that. Though I daresay, she will be quite relieved to know that you no longer have any feelings for Sir Gravens.”
Eloise lifted her chin, a spark lighting in her dark eyes. “If Lady de Savant can set her eyes on Sir Gravens, then so can I.”
Internally, Seraphina allowed herself a small, private smile. Eloise wore Seraphina’s old face and some of her old softness. And much like the old her in a different world, the dark-haired girl could still be steered with a nudge and a kind word. De Sariens stroked her pet’s smooth back with a fingertip, feeling the creature’s slow, contented coil.
“I see what you are doing,” Eloise said suddenly, with a sharp intake of breath. “You wish me to be true to myself.”
“Yes,” Seraphina said simply. “To your wants, not merely your duties. Promise me this, at least: before you let anyone choose for you, you will name what you truly want—and you will say it aloud.”
Eloise swallowed, her long lashes fluttering. “Then… I want a husband who respects me. Who listens. Who will not use me. Who will love me, and me alone. I want—” She faltered, then smiled, small and fierce. “I want to like the man I wake beside.”
You would be lucky to share a room, the other girl thought cynically.
“Good,” Seraphina said, pleased. “Now you have a measure. Any suitor who cannot meet it is not worthy of you.”
Eloise reached across the narrow space between them and squeezed Seraphina’s hand. “You make terrible scandals sound like common sense. But what if such a man does not exist?”
“That is because they are common sense,” Seraphina said, and finally allowed herself to grin. “And because you deserve better than songs sung about other women’s happiness. And, for such a man existing, a man you desire is entirely decided by you. That is, whether you set your standards high or low.”
Again, the girls laughed together, another moment of shared joy. There were storm clouds on the horizon, but for now, they had each other’s company as a small shelter.