"Powers that Divide Chapter 16" by Suzanne Collins

Although their return was greeted with some delight by King Roth (Della rather felt this was more for the gifts they bore), it was somewhat overshadowed by the celebrations already in hand for the princess’ betrothal. The city was a bustling hive of commotion; stall-holders lining the streets, eager to gain from the people’s exuberant spending and good humour; silks, shoes, baubles, sweetmeats, you name it, it was being sold somewhere. Jesters carolled up and down the highways, hanging from lamps and cheekily sitting on top of the stall awnings, bowing at the crowd’s appreciation of their agility and nerve as they performed summersaults and juggled with the apples they had taken off the carts. Occasionally one would get pushed off from behind by the owner’s servant boy, to the raucous laughter of the onlookers. The air was full of the jovial banter, gossip and wild speculation that is common when the nobility announces important occasions.

Della did not fail to notice the guards that King Roth had (wisely, in her opinion) set at strategic intervals throughout the city. Though the people as whole seemed to be well wishing the princess, one could never be quite sure that there weren’t those who frowned upon the news and who might wish to harm her (or her betrothed).

Despite the added security, Grevenya had been advised not to leave the castle until the celebrations had died down. Della had been filled in by her fellow ladies-in-waiting on all the events that had occurred before she had arrived home from Thulrind.

The previous Sunday, Jered, future count of Thulrind, had formally proposed to the princess. Before this, formal negotiations had taken place between King Roth and his advisors (Hamien being primary amongst these), and Jered’s advocates. During this time Jered had spent his visit flattering and gently cozening the princess into agreeing to his proposal. From what Della could gather, Grevenya had made impressive attempts to rebuff his advances; her dislike of him presumably stemming from their previous ill-fated encounters.

The count had then played his trump card; Grevenya was spoiled goods, and had already been plucked by his eldest son. The child conceived between them, whilst currently an anonymous bastard, would one day grow up groomed to be a rival to Grevenya’s throne and that of any children she may produce with a husband other than Jered unless she agreed to marry him. Thankfully none of this was common knowledge; the information was strictly in the hands of the king’s most trusted advisors. The reason King Roth finally gave for his blessing was that he and the count had good relations and he was keen to maintain them and form a binding friendship with his neighbouring city.

The princess had appeared a little subdued, Della observed when she had finally made her way back to her mistress’s quarters. She was tired after their harrowing journey and wanted nothing more than to rest, but it seemed the chance would have to wait. Grevenya had expressed a flattering warmth in her greeting, and Della had felt a sharp pang of affection and sympathy for her. The princess’s apparent spite towards her before she left for Thulrind had disappeared, and in its place was a young girl who needed comfort in a time of uncertainty, controlled by men in high places.

Della had to remind herself that Grevenya had brought this plight upon herself, through her own rash actions. Though she might rail against the decision made by her father, in all respects it would save her from much future embarrassment and strife. Grevenya’s reluctance went deeper, however, as she confided in Della that first evening back at court. Dells had admitted to knowing her situation and expressed her condolences as she repeated what Jon had said of her betrothed.

“He is a self-centred, arrogant prat,” she revealed, her voice full of loathing. “I can’t believe I did what I did, although at the time it was forbidden and exciting.” She paused, and winked at Della. “He was very manly you know. Very… virile,” she giggled, then sobered quickly. “Now he has this sudden position – King Consort of Hgendi! He will be unbearable. He will never let me forget the reason why he is here. And I have to live with… to lie with that man for the rest of my life! Oh Della, I hope you will always be here to keep me company and give me comfort.”

Della had considered at this point whether to tell her mistress of her impending betrothal, and decided it wouldn’t hurt to divert Grevenya’s (often self-centred) mind from her own unhappy situation.

“Why Della, that’s wonderful news!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands gaily as a five-year-old. “I knew you and Lord Grendian would marry. Though I am still very fond of him, and regret the pain I caused him… I will admit to being a little jealous, but what’s gone is gone and in the past. I am delighted that he shall at last find true happiness with my favourite lady.” With this, Della had been engulfed in rustling crimson silk and the sweet-smelling perfume Grevenya favoured. Breathing a sigh of relief, she thanked the princess for her acceptance and blessing.

“We must arrange your betrothal ceremony as soon as possible,” the princess said in a matter-of-fact way. “Of course, it won’t be until after mine, mine is more important and therefore shall take precedence. Nor shall it be as lavish, but we will endeavour to make it as special as possible.” With this, Grevenya’s mood lifted as she began to list and detail all the things that would need doing. Her own wedding was being organised by her mother, the court clerks and the master of revelries.

Della let her ramble, exhaustion now fighting her will to pay attention. With a weary hand on her shoulder, Della asked permission to retire and unpack her belongings. With much relief, she made her way to the apartment adjoining that of the princess where her ladies slept, and without looking at her chest of clothes, undressed and fell into bed. That night, her sleep was untroubled by dreams.

* * * * * * * * * * *

The next day Della was occupied with helping the princess choose materials and colours for her wedding gown, as well as helping her to oversee and approve the attire of her ladies. She found herself enjoying the gay company of her fellow ladies, who were all eager to look their best and outdo their companions. She barely had time to think of Jon, their own promises and her misgivings over his use of magic in their fight against the brigands.

Before supper of her second day in the castle, Della was sent on an errand to the queen to fetch plans for the dances to be performed by the princess’s ladies after the wedding. Grevenya was determined that they should excel at these and make her proud. Della, eager to see what the queen’s master of dance had prepared for them, had set off in great anticipation. She loved to dance and was a quick learner of the often-complicated steps of the formal dances of the court.

On her way to the queen’s apartments she noted the large numbers of retainers and nobles milling around a tall figure dressed flamboyantly in a shirt of sky blue, bright blue hose tucked into flared black leather boots and a white cravat frilled around his neck. She could not help but pause in her mission to admire his well-chiselled features and wonder at his extravagant attire. She had her suspicions that this was Jered of Thulrind, his followers, and those wishing to gain the notice and favour of Hgendi’s future king.

He was undoubtedly handsome, she thought to herself. She could understand Grevenya’s initial attraction, but her description of his character made Della curious, and she found herself drifting towards the growing group of people. As she neared she caught snippets of conversation from those on the edge of the throng.

“…took a while for the princess to accept,” said one portly man. “Can’t see why, he’s a dashing young fellow isn’t he?” To which his companion (a plump, middle-aged woman dressed as though she were Della’s age) simpered in agreement, her eyes fixed on Jered’s imposing form.

“Young upstart if you ask me,” muttered a tall thin man standing slightly in front of Della. Della smiled at his obvious disdain.

“What gives you such an unfavourable opinion?” she asked, catching his attention with a light touch on his sleeve. He started, clearly disgruntled at being overheard.

“Well,” he said conspiratorially, “I heard he has no military victories to his name; all his efforts have been saved and falsely exalted by his father. He’s a wily one that count. And just look at the ridiculous way he’s dressed!” Della couldn’t help but giggle at the man’s indignation.

“I’m sure he will prove himself in time,” she said diplomatically, trying to school her expression. The man scowled, and Della thought it best to move on. As she passed the group, her gaze caught those of the future king. Jered’s eyes were cold and calculating, narrowing as he met her gaze. A chill went down her spine as she glimpsed the unveiled interest he showed. Something warned her to be careful around this man. He came from a nest of ambitious vipers, ready to take advantage wherever they saw opportunity. Not to mention he had probably been tutored by the count’s wizard, Kiftaro, the most cunning viper of all. She did not return his smile (which she thought was more like a leer), instead hurried on to her destination, aware of his eyes as they followed her until she rounded a corner.

* * * * * * * * * * *

The next evening she saw Jon for the first time since their return. They met in the great hall, Della entering with the princess and the other ladies. She spotted Jon standing near the king’s table, where he was scrutinising the present company as they made their obeisance and gave thanks to King Roth for the bounty that was to come. It was the princess’s official betrothal banquet, during which gifts would be exchanged between the couple and after the meal they would make their vows in front of the entire court.

Grevenya was resplendent in her betrothal gown of pale blue silk. It hugged her waist and flared out around her feet, held in place by the fashionable wooden ring that was attached to the hem just above her feet. The low square neckline was laced with pearls and exquisite silver embroidery, around her throat was a silver-embedded diamond made up of tiny glittering sapphires. Her long hair was loosely hanging down her back; a symbol of her supposed virginity. Upon her brow was set a delicately wrought silver tiara, symbol of her royal status. In a word, she looked enchanting, Della thought with satisfaction as she followed her mistress to the high table.

She watched Jon as they approached. His eyes lingered on the princess before moving past her to rest on Della. He smiled, his face a picture of happiness. Della had also taken great care of her appearance. Her brown locks had been coiled and twisted about her head, leaving the odd stray curl to hang loose about her exposed throat. All the ladies of Grevenya’s court had been presented with new gowns for the occasion, and Della had selected one of deep forest green. She had done the embroidery herself, and was rather pleased with the curling vines and leaves, interspersed with small white blossoms. She wore no jewellery but the ring Jon had given her, which sparkled merrily in the torchlight filling the hall.

Jon moved towards them, took and kissed the princess’s hand before bowing and kissing Della courteously on either cheek.

“You look beautiful,” he said, and Della grinned stupidly. Soon it would be her turn to say her oath of betrothal to this adoring, handsome man.

A trumpet rang out, announcing dinner was to be served. Della touched Jon’s hand lightly before moving to the ladies’ table. Jon went to take his place at the high table. She noticed he was sitting just two chairs away from Jered of Thulrind. Hamien, as usual, sat to the king’s left, while the queen was on his right. The princess and her betrothed sat opposite one another, whilst next to Jered was one of the ambassadors from the count. She saw him begin to converse with Jon; it appeared they knew each other, for he suddenly clapped Jon on the back and they both laughed heartily.

Her gaze drifted, seemingly of its own accord, to the king’s advisor, who was eyeing Jered with some distaste. He never was very good at hiding his opinions. He rarely spoke, instead doing his round of the hall as he did every mealtime. Della knew he would eventually look towards her table, and self-consciously straightened her back and spoke to Fran, who was next to her. They had become firm friends during their time away, and although Della would never disclose her feelings about Hamien, she felt there was no harm in some light banter regarding how handsome the wizard looked. It was agreed by the princess’s ladies that it was a terrible shame that Hamien should be so ineligible, so nobody thought anything of Della’s comments.

“Ooh, how about Lord Jered then?” said Fran suggestively. “He’s a bit of a catch don’t you think?” She glanced longingly at the high table.

“Oh no,” replied Della, though she was not in the least surprised by Fran’s (and the majority of the others’) reaction to the new arrival. “He looks far too cold and conceited.” She looked over and to her discomfort saw Jered leering in their direction. “He’s far too sure of himself,” she finished.

“The princess is so lucky to be having a man like that in her bed,” Fran continued, oblivious to Della’s criticisms. Della sighed. There was no helping some women.

“I’m going for some fresh air,” she muttered, standing and moving towards the main entrance. As she passed one of the side passages she saw a furtive shadow moving away from her. There was something familiar about its size and shape. Despite her instincts telling her to continue on, her curiosity got the better of her and with a glance back into the hall, saw that Jon was engaged with his neighbour. She stole down the passage until she came to a dimly lit chamber to her right. There was a figure inside. She took a deep breath and stepped inside. As she did, the door swung shut behind her.

* * * * * * * * * * *

He stood with his back to her. A tall, silent presence. He was dressed splendidly in a robe of deepest green, just a shade darker than her own, silver embroidery sparkling around the waist and hem. His black hair shone in the firelight, loose like a cascade of night sky. Once more Della found herself simply studying his figure, admiring. She feared to break the stillness. In truth, she didn’t know what to say. She had not intended to see Hamien, especially not alone, as they were now. Her betrothal vows to Jon were to be made on the understanding that she was never to consort with the king’s advisor other than on state business (and what chance was there of that?) or in courtly company. Yet here they were. Alone. As though fate was determined to throw each in the path of the other. Her heart was beating so fast he must be able to hear it, especially with those keen elvish ears.

“You look lovely,” he said simply, turning to face her. Somehow this kindled joy on a completely different level to what she had felt earlier, hearing Jon’s praise. She glowed inside, her face burned.

“I have heard about your engagement.” His voice was soft, resigned yet with undisguised anger riding beneath the surface. “Is this what you truly want?” he asked finally. His expression was blank, his eyes revealing nothing of his inner thoughts. She gazed at him for a moment, searching for one sign of the light that had been in his eyes as he had pulled away from her embrace all those months ago. Seeing nothing, she took a deep breath, nodded and said simply, “It is my fervent wish to marry Lord Grendian. As it is the king’s,” she added as an afterthought. “I love him, and he loves me. He will give himself wholly to me and I know he will be a good husband.”

Was that it? Did she see his eyes narrow slightly? Perhaps he was aware of her insinuation that since Hamien was a wizard he could give himself to no woman. As soon there, as soon it was gone; that flicker of regret. Della told herself that she had imagined it.

“Well, sir. I bid you goodnight. I shouldn’t have come here.” Della curtsied gracefully and turned to leave before she did something rash. As she did so, she broke off one more little piece of her heart and stored it with the one she had saved on her wedding day to Tobin.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Hamien watched Della go, keeping his composure until the door had shut behind her. When he heard it click, his breath exhaled in a fiery cloud, all the heat and passion she aroused in him billowing around the room. He had to check himself as he realised with alarm that he had set the curtains alight and charred the back of the door.

Cursed woman! For the thousandth time he asked himself what it was about her that attracted him so. That made his thoughts swirl incoherently and his blood pulse hotly through his veins. She was just a peasant girl, after all. Whatever it was she had captured him completely, as though she had woven a spell so powerful his powers paled against it. Marry Grendian! He had known she would. If not just to torment him. Well, let her marry him. In time she will come back to me, he thought. She must, or I will go insane! And if she does not, I will find a way to end her ill-advised union.

Grendian must die. Maybe not right away, but in time, he must die.