SciFi and Fantasy Stories: Quilandry, Pt. 1 of 2

The sun warmed her cheek and the scent of the fresh morning filled her senses, making her whole body tingle. The sky was painted red and pink and was perfectly gorgeous, making everything else seem wonderful and beautiful as well.

The princess hummed lightly under her breath, watching the glowing orange orb rise into the sky, ever so slowly. Her handmaiden brushed her hair, a tiny smile playing on her lips. It was rare that her mistress was in such a good mood so early in the morning.

"What makes you so happy this morning, Quilandry?" the handmaiden said, smiling down at her princess. They had grown up together, and had left proper formality behind long ago.

"Dear Maha, don’t you remember? I turn fifteen years of age today," Quilandry replied, her face glowing as brightly as the sun outside her window.

"Ah, yes, that’s today, is it?" Maha had very little learning and did not know the days. She gave her mistress’s pale hair a final pat and her thin shoulders a gentle hug.

"Yes, Maha, that is today," Quilandry stood up, and let her friend undress her. The fresh dress she brought out was silvery green, a new material from the west. There were good things about being the princess of the greatest kingdom in the world, certainly.

"Why should fifteen be so grand?" said the other lady in the room. She was sprawled on the bed, her face delicate and crinkled in a scowl that was very unbecoming.

"Because, Adel," Quilandry said, eyeing her younger sister with a hint of distaste, "fifteen means I am almost sixteen. And sixteen means I will be old enough to wed, certainly."

Maha and Adel traded glances. Maha was pure beauty, her skin the color of the popular chocolate drink, and smooth. Her eyes were almost black, her hair crinkling gently around her high cheekbones. Adel was just as pretty, but in a more angelic way. Her features were delicate and her dark brown hair spiraled down from her crown like a cloud.

Quilandry, however, was in no way gorgeous. She was plain and had no defining features. Her cornsilk hair sat flat against her head, and her eyes were dark gray like the sky before a storm. Her chin was pointed sharply and her elbows stuck out at awkward angles.

Any common girl could get married at twelve or so. And noble ones at maybe fourteen. Princesses usually wed at sixteen, but they were courted before that. Quilandry had never seen a suitor (but for the highly improper steward who had a distinct fancy for her) even though her sister, two years her minor, had seen a few (this was a secret, though, at least to Quilandry).

Maha herself was married, her belly just becoming round with her first child. Both the lovely ladies knew that Quilandry would be wed as necessity, and certainly not when she was sixteen. Adel cleared her throat and Maha tied the last string on Quilandry’s dress.

She sensed the tension, "What?"

Maha patted out a wrinkle in the large skirt of the dress, "Nothing, Quilandry. It’s just… well, your father is a bit protective of you."

"Oh, piffle. He’s not going to endanger my whole LIFE just to keep me innocent, you know," Quilandry rolled her eyes. Adel was about to say something, as she stood up to be dressed herself, when fanfare sounded from outside. Quilandry’s eyebrows drew together. So early!

She stepped to the window, pressing her nose against the glass. Yes, indeed. There was a long party making it’s way toward the castle. How interesting!

"Who is it, Quilandry?" Adel asked.

"I can’t tell…" she said, and suddenly her heart gave a leap. "I take that back. It’s a party from Giego! Oh, and the prince is with them!"

Adel jumped forward, ignoring Maha’s cry of indignation and the fact that her dress was not tied tightly. Yes, certainly that WAS the flag of Giego, and the crown on the flag below it represented the royal prince. It was not really very odd, because after all their father WAS very important, and all the time people were paying him tribute. But somehow both girls felt that this time things were different.

Suddenly there was a loud knock at the door and a short, stout, black haired girl came tumbling in. Maha stifled a groan of regret when she saw her. The girl, whose cheeks flamed red at the glares the two princesses’ gave her, was Rhia, Quilandry and Adel’s cousin. She was not a princess, certainly, and could barely qualify as a noble because she was not the daughter of her father’s wife. Still, Quilandry’s father had taken pity on her when his favorite brother came to beg for a dowry for his youngest daughter.

"Adel, Quilandry! There’s a party from Giego!" she cried, flustered. She was older than both of them, but even Adel felt more mature than her cousin some times.

"We know, Rhia. Are you going to wear that all day?" Adel said. She glanced at the older woman’s dress with disdain. Quilandry had to agree. The dress was black with purple trim, and was perhaps a size or two too small. She also wore a threadbare long black cloak on her back (sometimes she fancied herself a magician).

"Yes. I think it looks cunning," Rhia scowled at her cousins and moved toward the window, pushing Quilandry to the side. Quilandry bit her tongue but Adel stepped away from the window as well, glaring at Rhia behind her back. Maha put the finishing touches on Adel’s dress, just as the party was being introduced below them.

"You must get our best dresses, Maha, for tonight," Adel told the servant. Quilandry nodded eagerly and followed her sister out the door.

The two princesses drifted down to the main hall, barely noticing their cousin had followed them. Their father was standing there, grasping the arm of the tall prince. Quilandry felt her breath catch at the sight of him. He was tall and broad shouldered and very handsome.

"Ah, Prince Andor! These are my two daughters, Quilandry and Adel," the king said when he spotted the two girls.
"Good morning, Prince Andor," the girls chimed together as they curtsied. Quilandry wobbled and almost fell over as she did so. Adel, of course, was the picture of excellence.

"Good morning indeed, ladies," the prince said with a smile. His eyes were on Adel and Quilandry felt her face get warm.

"Well, girls, we men must be off to discuss trade points and what not. We shall see you tonight, no?" the king smiled and kissed them both on the forehead before sweeping away, the handsome prince following.

The princesses went through their day as they normally did. They had lessons to attend to (deportment and dancing and what not) and embroidery to do. Adel had it in her head to hold a class of simple reading and writing skills for the poor children in the village and attended to that as well. Quilandry usually enjoyed listening to the blunt remarks of the children but today she had her mind set on other things. Everyone was bustling around, preparing for the party that night in honor of both Quilandry’s birthday and the foreigners.

That evening Quilandry slipped down into the kitchens to try and pick up some news of the foreign party. Why where they here and how long would they be staying? She wove through the bustling crowd in the kitchen and asked many questions but got few answers. She was just about to talk to a little dirty servant boy when a wooden spoon came flying down on her knuckles.
"Out, princess! Can’t have you taking up room," the cook said. Quilandry scowled at him but knew better than to argue. Even if she was the princess, the cook was king when he was in the kitchen.

Quilandry made her way back up the stairs and down the corridor to her rooms. Ducking into her chambers, flicking pained tears from her eyes, she ordered a passing maid to bring her a bath. She saw her best dress lying out on the bed – freshly pressed certainly. She ran her fingertips over the pale yellow satin and smiled. She felt so pretty in the dress, even though the color did little for her.

The bath was ready within the hour and she climbed in. The water was strewn with herbs and the smell relaxed her. A maid washed her hair and another her body, while she leaned back in the large tub and closed her eyes. When she was clean and her hair shining, they rubbed her with oils that made her body shine in the light of the sun. They washed the oils off, and she felt very mellow and cleansed.

She was wrapped in a robe and she sat down in her chair (which was not that comfortable but fit her purposes) to have her hair combed. The maids gave it one hundred brushes, then gently ruffled it and gave it another hundred. The sun was setting and they braided her hair and wrapped it around her head. She was dressed, then, by Maha. The satin felt smooth against her skin, and her cheeks were rosy with happiness.

"You look very nice, Quilandry," Maha told her. Quilandry stepped in front of the silver plate that served as a mirror (her father could, of course, afford silver when most people only had brightly polished brass). She smiled, her grin spreading across her face like a wide crack.

Suddenly the door opened and Adel walked in. There was a collective gasp from the maids, and Quilandry turned around very slowly, her heart beating a little faster and her hands suddenly shaking.

Her sister’s dark hair was piled up in curls on her head, with two ringlets falling into her face. She wore a dark green dress that brought out the flecks of jade in her brown eyes. She looked tall and womanly and her budding shape stood out.

Silently Quilandry turned back to the mirror as Adel’s handmaid started to brag. She studied herself, frowning. She looked almost bald because her hair was so thin, even braided on top of her head. The dress was old fashioned and made her look strange – rather lumpy and not well shaped. She hardly looked Adel’s age. Sighing, she turned back to the crowd of people.

Slowly she began to smile again, a rather forced smile. Adel took no notice, wrapped in her own little world. Maha, however, felt her own happiness dwindling as she saw Quilandry rub her eyes when she thought no one was watching her (only Maha was).

Finally it was time to go downstairs. Quilandry walked next to Maha, her head bent and her eyes on the ground. Maha smiled at her whenever the princess looked up at her maid. At the top of the stairs, Quilandry hesitated. Maha quickly hugged her, her lips brushing her friend’s cheek.

"You look lovely, Quilandry," she said. Quilandry smiled, and quietly went down the stairs with as much grace as she could muster.

There were many people there and they watched silently as the princesses of the castle walked down the stairs to join them. Most eyes, of course, lingered on Adel and passed over Quilandry. The sisters walked side by side through the crowd. Adel was beaming, nodding in greeting at the people watching them. Quilandry tried her best not to frown.
Her eyes, however, lifted from her feet almost immediately to stare at the strange people all around her. The crowd was a wash of color, everyone wearing their best clothing. There was quite a lot of dark red in the bunch, so that must be the newest color to become fashionable, but Quilandry didn’t really like fashion. As she walked past, people paused to watch her.
A dark skinned man turned as the princesses walked passed and with a smile stepped forward. Silently, he lifted his palm and blew on it. A tiny ripple ran over it, and then his hand burst into flame. Adel gasped and her hand clasped Quilandry’s arm tightly.
The older princess watched in amazement as the man winked, and the flames writhed, slowly forming the shape of a flower in his palm. Quilandry leaned forward, and he offered his hand to her. She started to reach out, when a rough hand wrapped around her wrist.
"Excuse us, sir, but the princesses must continue on their way," the guard said from behind his bulky silver helmet. The man closed his hand and suddenly disappeared – though whether it was into the crowd or into thin air Quilandry could not tell.
"The famous mage Nolamir," said Rhia, who had come up behind Quilandry. Rhia smiled wolfishly at her cousin, who shivered but lifted her chin, deciding to forget the incident completely.

They made their way to the throne where their father sat. The throne room, which was used in gatherings, proclamations, and also as a general courtroom, was very large. Huge panes of glass let in the moonlight – the most expensive thing in the whole room. The throne itself was dark wood, carved with magical signs of protection. It was very big and very beautiful. Quilandry always longed to sit in it.

Sitting beside their father, they saw as they drew near, in the smaller throne, was the prince of Giego. They stepped forward, bowing first to their father, then to the prince, and they shared a quick glance and smothered giggles. The prince was no less handsome in the evening. He was smiling and Quilandry felt her heartbeat pick up again. She wasn’t one for fair hair, exactly, but he made his blonde locks work for him.

"Good evening, ladies," Prince Andor said, bowing to them. "If I may have the pleasure of dancing?"

"Yes!" they both said breathlessly and then grinned at each other. The prince bowed, and took Adel’s hand. Quilandry sank into the throne next to her father’s.

"He is very nice, the young prince," the king told her as they both watched Adel dance with the prince.

"Yes," was all Quilandry could manage to say. People quickly filled the empty space before the thrones, chattering at the king and the princess steadily. Quilandry found herself swept off to dance with a very old noble of whom she was found of in a grandfatherly way. He was very interesting, but she didn’t want to dance with him.

"You are fifteen now, princess, correct?" he asked her as she ducked her head so that his arm could go over it.

"Yes," she replied, trying to keep her feet out from under his.

"That’s a very big number. I remember when you turned FIVE! Oh, your mother was so proud that day," he beamed at her and she winced back. His feet were VERY heavy.

"My mother?" she asked.

"Yes. That was the last birthday she got to see, unfortunately. But she made you a beautiful handkerchief. I wonder where it got on to?" he smiled again and she smiled back. The musicians stopped, taking a moment to rest. Quilandry and the old noble bowed to each other and Quilandry made her way back to the throne.

"Dear… I need a favor," her father said in her ear as she sat down. He was half-listening to a long-winded noble from the outer parts of his kingdom.

"Yes, father?" she whispered back. They both nodded and smiled when the woman paused and she smile before continuing on her rant.

"Would you run along to my rooms and retrieve my saber for me? One of my friends… oh, no, your aren’t boring me… wants to see it. He says he might have found one by the same maker," the king said.

"But father… yes, father," Quilandry curtsied, knowing better than to argue. She was feeling a little tired as she pushed her way through the crowd again (it was rather like running in sand or sloshing through a swamp). The hallways were abandoned. She hurried along, walking softly because her solitary footsteps sounded so eerie in the empty hall.

She navigated the tangling way of the castle quickly. After all, she’d been practicing her whole life. Her father’s rooms were easy to find, in her opinion. They weren’t far from the throne room, either. She ran up the flight of stairs and turned down the left hallway. She entered his rooms – sitting room, bedroom, dressing room – and took his saber from the wall. She held it reverently. It was precious to him and that he trusted her with it was really an honor.

Still, she would have preferred to be dancing with the prince of Giego right now.

She hurried down the hall but stopped when she heard voices around the corner. She frowned, taking a step closer and listening hard.

Not only were they voices, but familiar voices.

"I haven’t any idea what you are talking about, prince," her sister said. Quilandry bit her lip. Prince? As in… Prince Andor?

Yes, it was. He spoke next. "You of course know what I mean. You are a very lovely girl, princess, and a marriage would aid both of our kingdoms."

"I’m not old enough, prince," she replied, obviously uncomfortable. Quilandry felt her cheeks grow hot.

"Princess Adel…" there was a pause and then a loud smack.

"Prince! If you are going to be improper, court my dowdy sister, not me! She would not mind, I assure you!" Adel cried, and her footsteps stormed off. Quilandry’s mouth fell open, her eyes widened. Dowdy?

The Prince swore and his footsteps moved off too. As if in a dream, Quilandry felt her feet moving. She made her way back to the throne room and gave her father the saber. She turned around, her eyes glassy, and almost ran into the prince himself.

"Could I have that dance now, Princess Quilandry?" he asked, smiling down at her. Her mouth fell open again and she almost smacked him like her sister had. How… fake, rude, annoying… and yet she knew that he thought she was clueless.

"I am sorry, Prince Andor, I must excuse myself," she replied, her voice a little choked. She stepped around him and it was all she could do not to run from the room.

As soon as she was in the hallway, though, she did begin to run. Someone behind her called her name, but she wasn’t listening.

Her feet flew up the stairs. Flight after flight, she ran up until she was at the highest level of the castle. She ran, tears filling her eyes, and out a door. She slammed into a stone wall, sobbing. The cold wind hit her face – she was on a tower that overlooked the village below the castle.

Tears ran down her cheeks and she let herself cry, burying her head in her arms. Her own sister… she felt betrayed. Had she said that to others before? "You aren’t good enough for me… court my sister." How could she? It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t!

"P-princess?" a voice said, startling a gasp from Quilandry. She spun around pressing flat against the tower wall. A figure stepped out from the dark and into the light of the moon.

"Steward," she said, quickly brushing at her cheeks. That dreadful young man of her father’s… his dark skin and dark hair blended too well with the dark stone around him. What was his name? Oh, yes, Dustin.

"Are you all right?"

"I want to be alone, Steward Dustin," she told him, glaring. Her lips trembled however, thinking that he was the only man to show any interesting in her. Her jaw tightened and a tear ran down her nose unbidden.

"You are crying, Quilandry… princess," he said, stepping forward again. She turned around, her back to him and tried not to burst out sobbing again.

"No. Now leave me!" she snapped.

"What’s wrong?"

"Nothing!"

"Something’s wrong!" he leaned on the wall, trying to look at her face.

"Nothing is wrong," she sobbed, breaking down again. He winced and she covered her face with her hands.

After a few minutes she had cried herself out and stood sniffing.

"Will you tell me what happened?" he asked, handing her his handkerchief.

"Why should I?" she asked but immediately regretted it. "I’m sorry, Steward Dustin. I am feeling bruised."

"It’s all right. Please call me Dustin, princess," he replied. She wiped her face with his handkerchief.

"I am still sorry… Dustin. I haven’t been very nice to you, have I?" she held out the handkerchief.

"No, you can keep it. I don’t mind… you are a princess, why should you be kind to me?" he smiled vaguely.

"Were you here first, or did you come in after I did?" she asked, avoiding looking at him, clutching the wet square of cloth.

"I was here already. Did someone insult you?"

"Yes… I suppose," she glanced at him, his eyes wide with sincerity, holding on to every word she spoke. She quickly looked away again, but found herself spitting out the story anyway.

"That’s awful," he told her when she was finished.

"Yes. I don’t think she meant it but… what if she did?" another dry sob worked its way out of her throat. "It isn’t fair. I’m the older, why is she the beautiful one?"

There was a pause and the young man felt very uncomfortable. Quilandry bit her lip, remembering that he had been infatuated with her for quite some time.

"I…" he started, but she shook her head.

"No, don’t say anything. It’s better to be proper," she said, her voice hoarse. Her teeth sank into her bottom lip nervously.

"I… I don’t care. Quilandry… princess… you know I’ve always thought you were beautiful," he said, squaring his shoulders in a rebellious way.

"Dustin… steward, you shouldn’t say things like that!" she cried, her heart missing a beat.

"I don’t care. I’ve quit my job anyway. I came up here to get a last glance at the place before I go!" he said forcefully. Quilandry looked at him in surprise but he was staring at the landscape before them. "I’m going home."

"And where is that?" she found herself asking, unable to look away from him suddenly.

"To the southeast," he replied quietly. Quilandry wondered why she had never noticed how he had a strange curl sticking up from the back of his head. Or how very dark his eyelashes were.

"Oh. Is something wrong there, that you must return?"

"Yes. I… yes," he nodded. Then he turned to her and bowed deeply. "I’m afraid I must go, princess. Perhaps you should return to the party. And… well, perhaps you should be wary of the prince."

"Yes. Good bye, Dustin," she said and watched him leave. She looked up at the moon, frowning. She stuffed the handkerchief into her pocket, and left.

She returned not to the party, but to her room, where she undressed herself with much trouble and took out the pins in her hair. The braids fell lankly down, and she stared at herself in the silver mirror. Then she blew out the lantern and laid down in her bed. She felt very, very tired.

The next morning, as the sun sprinkled across her face, Quilandry sat up with a start. She jumped out of the bed, calling anxiously for Maha, who arrived with a very sleepy look on.

"The sun has barely risen, Quilandry!" she cried.

"Dress me, quickly, in anything!" the princess cried. Her maid did so, and started to take out the braids from Quilandry’s hair.

"No time for that! I’ll return shortly," she said, batting her away. She quickly grabbed one of her clean, white handkerchiefs from the wooden chest at the foot of her bed and ran from the room.

She ran very quickly, she knew, and her hair streamed behind her, slowly unworking itself from the braids. She ran through the kitchen, the servants looking up in wonder from their work as she flew past and out the door. Her slippers smacked the hard-packed dirt outside with a satisfying thwap and she ran towards the stables.

Slowing down as she got there, she clutched at her side. She was a fast runner, but she did not like it very much and now her side hurt dreadfully. Breathing slowly and wincing, she stepped into the stable.

There no light, but her eyes quickly adjusted. No one was there. She frowned. Was she too late? She stepped out the back door, to where they kept the water troughs.

A strangled cry burst from her throat. Entangled in each other, the pair on the ground yelped too, jumping up. A knight, one of the richest, with his shirt off and his hair matted, blushed furiously and quickly tied his belt back on. But Quilandry was not looking at him. She was staring at her cousin, Rhia, who was wrapping her fallen cloak around herself.

"Rhia!" she whispered, her eyes widening. Her cousin looked at her, her face defiant. Quilandry choked on her words, not knowing what to say. "I… I…"

"You needed something, cousin?" Rhia asked coldly. She seemed to be ignoring the fact that she only wore one shoe. The other was lying on the ground.

"I was wondering… if… anyone had left this morning," she said in a strangled voice.

"Only a young boy, princess," the knight said. He was still looking embarrassed.

"Thank you…" she glanced at them again. She started to turn but his hand clamped on her arm.

"I will do anything for you, princess," he said slowly. But then he let her go, his face growing dark. "Excuse me," he said and stumbled off. Feeling breathless, Quilandry turned and went in the opposite direction, leaving Rhia to dress herself. She felt like running, but couldn’t bring herself to do it.

What has gotten into everyone these days? She wondered.

When she entered her rooms, she found her sister sitting on the floor, children sitting around her. Those silly children from the village! Quilandry felt resentful toward them but didn’t know exactly why. She stared at them as they glanced up at her. Adel frowned.

"Quilandry? You look disheveled!" she said, starting to stand up. Quilandry felt her anger suddenly return.

"Well, that’s not very odd, is it?" she snapped. She crossed her arms and realized that she was still clutching her handkerchief. She stared at it and then glanced up at her sister. Feeling overwhelmed, she wondered whether to cry or laugh or scream.

She chose the third option and fell to her knees, screaming. Her hands clutched at her hair, and her face twisted as if in pain. The children shrieked and ran behind Adel, who looked terrified. Maha and some other servants ran into the room.

"Quilandry, what ever is the matter?" Maha cried, touching her mistress’s shoulder.

"Out!" the princess screamed, jumping up and pointing at Adel. "Out! OUT!" Adel took a step back.

"But… Quilandry," she said, startled.

"Don’t TALK to me! LEAVE!" Quilandry screamed and threw herself onto her bed, collapsing again into tears. Angry tears this time, clutching the bed sheets tightly. Maha nodded and Adel herded her students from the room. Maha glanced toward the other servants, who also fled. Then she sat next to her friend, her mistress, and softly touched her hair.

"Oh, Maha, why?" she sobbed, laying her head into her servant’s skirt.

"Things will look up, Quilandry, they will," Maha replied, wondering what was so wrong.