Disclaimer: The characters, concepts, setting, etc are from Tamora Pierce.
LOVE IS BLIND
Chapter Five
Delia
After tethering Moonlight to a post outside the Dancing Dove, Alanna made her way into the tavern, greeting her boisterous Rogue friends, while Faithful acted as her little guard, making sure no one made a grab for her purse.
The air inside was smoky. The thieves were loud in their celebrations. The moment they saw her, the din worsened. A few men wolf-whistled at her, while others leered.
"You celebrating the Prince's birthday?" Alanna asked, with a grin. "Does his Highness of your loyalty?"
"Always," Marek responded jokingly. "Pops here all the time, doesn't he? Gropes the girls and drinks our wine…"
Alanna hid a smile. Marek had no idea about the truth in his words.
"Want a drink, 'Lanna?" Lightfingers asked, his voice slightly slurred. He proffered his mug towards her. Upon peering down at the contents (with no intention to accept, really) Alanna blanched.
"No thanks," she said hastily. "I've come to see George."
Somehow, the thieves found this statement uproariously funny.
"You n' that lad, Johnny! Sombre as anything!" 'Fingers said, winking at her knowingly. "All's same, you want to see George, eh?" He waggled his bushy brows.
Alanna scowled, knowing quite well what the thief was thinking. "Keep your opinions to yourself, 'Fingers, I'm on business," she said crisply, folding her arms. "Now, are you going to take me to George or not?"
George, however, was making his way down. "Harassin' Alanna again, 'Fingers?" he said, laughingly. "Tried sweet talkin' to her myself, many a time. Never worked. She's a hard woman to please. "
Alanna sent him a glare. He responded with a wink. "What are you here for, lass?" he asked.
But before Alanna could respond, 'Fingers had pushed his chair back, pushing a flower girl off his lap. He stood, swaying.
"I'm declarin' a toast," he said, taking a heavy swig of ale.
There came protests. "Again?" someone yelled.
"Mithros, how many toasts have you made?" Alanna demanded.
"Ten," 'Fingers said blearily. "This shall be th' eleventh." He stood and raised his tankard in the air. "To the damnable bastard!"
Cheers rose through the room. The sentiment echoed.
Alanna laughed. "I'll send your well wishes to him," she said solemnly, her eyes dancing.
"'Fingers drinks for whatever reason that comes to mind, if there's none, he drinks for sorrow," George said, "Now, what's this you're seeing me for, Lass?" he said again.
They made their way up the ladder to George's room. As soon as the door shut, the noise from below faded. Alanna immediately told him everything that had happened so far, until she finally stopped to take a breath.
George rummaged around his room, until he came up with several packages and a letter.
After scanning through the letter, Alanna sighed. "He's got some suspicions," she said flatly. She turned to the packages. "What's this?"
"From Trebond, to his Highness," George said, gesturing to the largest package. Unable to resist (after all, it was from her, as well) she snuck a peek at the contents.
It was army. "It's beautiful!" she exclaimed reverently, lifting out the armour. It was the lightest chain mail that she had ever handled. Amethysts studded the gold washed silver. There was no other word for it. It was beautiful. She practically could feel the magic reverberating through it.
After she wrapped it back up proper, George handed her another package. "From me, to Jon. Make sure you give it to him in private though, it won't do well if my identity as the giver comes out - and don't worry, I didn't steal it, lass."
She gave him a sceptical look.
He laughed. "You doubter," he said, shaking his head.
"You can hardly blame me," Alanna said self-righteously. "You're a thief. A suspicious character, with a shady career."
"I've been thinkin' lately," said George conversationally, looking directly at her, "After I retire from the Rogue, I might take a job. It would be somethin' respectable, a merchant, or jeweller…"
Alanna snorted. "Oh really? And what would happen to all your accumulations? And your collection of ears?"
His eyes never left hers. "After I settle down, maybe, I'll get m'self a wife."
Sucking in a breath, she gave a sarcastic laugh, not quite liking where this conversation seemed to be headed. "A wife- you?"
"A woman, who knows how to fight and has education, and mayhap even has some breeding, with a bit of spirit and wit..."
Her mouth felt very dry now, she wanted more than anything for a change in topic. "Good luck, George," she said dryly. "I don't think that woman exists."
"I think I've already found her," George said lowly, his gaze intense.
She let out her breath. "You presume highly of yourself! I am of noble blood, in the book of Gold…"
"Don't try to fool yourself, Alanna," he said sharply. "You couldn't care less about bloodlines and books."
"I have no interest in love." She spat out the word, disgustedly.
"Aren't you even curious? It may do you good, lass."
There was silence, where Alanna just glared at him.
George looked away. When he spoke again, his voice was normal, and perhaps even a bit tired. "I'll best come down with you, lass. With all your baggage tonight, my people may be tempted to rebel when my back is turned."
She grimaced. "I can handle myself, George," she said, glad that he was talking sense again.
"All loaded up like that?" He shook his head. "You might break somethin'. At least let me accompany you to the city edge."
She scowled, but relented.
Faithful trotted behind them, his tail waving like a small banner.
True to his word, George led them to the edge of the city, before he said his farewells. Faithful, however, had disappeared.
"Where is that dratted cat?" Alanna said in annoyance.
George shrugged. "He can't be far behind. A cat with smarts like him can defend himself."
Faithful was getting close and personal with a fishmonger, who looked positively delighted to feed the cat, crooning compliments while the cat purred smugly.
"That cat!" Alanna hissed under her breath.
"At least you won't have to feed him later," George said wryly, handing back her parcels.
She managed them awkwardly, barely balancing them. Just as she managed to balance the packages, she caught George giving her 'the look' again.
"I'm takin' advantage of you now, Alanna, because I'll probably never catch you like this again," George said softly, standing so close that if she lifted a finger, she'd be able to touch his arm.
"George, you -"
He bent down and kissed her, brushing his lips lightly over hers. "Remember what I said about love," he said.
"Pigs might fly," she retorted, giving him a venomous look.
Just at that moment, Faithful trotted back, his fur reeking of fish, and a freshly caught mackerel between his jaws.
George waved, and then disappeared.
"You!" Alanna cried, frustrated. "Where were you when I needed you?"
You seemed to be enjoying yourself, anyhow, Faithful replied.
Unable to find a response, she stalked off. Everything—and everyone—was getting too silly for words.
Of all the things that happened on Prince Jonathan's eighteenth birthday, Alanna only remembered one extremely significant event, which was her first meeting with Delia of Eldorne.
As Jonathan's squire, she was relieved of her duties, but was expected to be present every single palatial celebration. Jon did all he could to make her stay, ranging from royal command, to an acidic glare, brute force, blackmail and guilt-trips.
"Is it really that bad?" he asked plaintively, as he handed her a glass of wine he had taken from a nearby server.
"No, I'm sure it is wonderful. For you." She smoothed the material of the gown she had been forced to wear with shaking fingers. "For me, this is a step up from torture. I'd rather study bows in Etiquette!"
He chuckled, and then sighed. "It isn't that terrible," he said chidingly.
She gave him a terrible look. "Why not you try putting on a gown and high heeled shoes?" she suggested sweetly. "I look ridiculous."
He peered at her. "You look wonderful," he said firmly. Then, an idea came to his mind. "In fact… would you like a dance?" He gave her an over-exaggerated, courtly bow.
She considered flinging her glass of wine into his face, but decided against it. It was his birthday, and for that, she would be lenient, for once. "You have to be joking," she hissed. "Isn't it bad enough that I'm dressed like this? Now you expect me to dance?" When he looked at her blandly, she choked. "I can't dance!"
"Nonsense," he said. "Of course you can!"
She glared at him. "I—" she began.
"Make that a royal command," he said airily. He extended a hand, which she grudgingly took.
"You abuse your royal privileges too much," she muttered.
She was all too aware when his hand slid down to her waist. The music slowed down to a melancholy, romantic pace. Jon steered her out onto the ballroom floor.
Her face felt like it was burning. She could feel hundreds of eyes stabbing into her. It was an uncomfortable feeling. Mithros! She was meant to be Jonathan's squire, not a publicity puppet! "I told you I couldn't dance," she said, when she unintentionally stepped on his foot.
"You did that deliberately."
"Did not."
"Did too."
"Did not!" She took a breath. "I never learnt the female steps for the waltz."
"It's the…"
"It is not the same," she said. "It is different. It is feminine. You're not meant to dance with men."
"You're not male," he said pointedly.
She refused to reply.
"You aren't," he said. "You're a girl, and you're a very pretty girl."
"Liar."
He was hasty to reassure her. "You are beautiful, in your own way," he said earnestly. "It is a bit like… like…"
She had a feeling he would never come up with a comparable analogy. "We're meant to dance," she said. "Not talk."
He laughed. "We're meant to dance AND talk."
"If you try dance with me again…" She narrowed her eyes. "I'll make a drunk look graceful."
"You charmer," he said.
"I'm honest," she said.
He studied her, which was unnerving at such close proximity. "Do you know what you need? You need romance," he said, unknowingly reminding her of the earlier conversation, with George.
She practically gagged. "I certainly do not!"
The expression in his eyes was unreadable, but his lips curved in a smile. "The lady doth protest too much," he murmured.
Alanna scowled. She had no interest in romance, and she couldn't understand why everyone was so convinced it was redemptive. All she wanted was her shield.
She was suddenly aware that the music had faded, and they were sitting down again, in the farthest corner of the ballroom.
"How was that?" Jon asked. He laughed when Alanna made a disgusted face, and responded predictably.
Before they could continue their conversation, Gary stumbled over. He was grinning so widely that he seemed almost drunk. "There's a new arrival," he declared. "She's young, she is gorgeous, and I got to meet her first," he concluded smugly. "You are interested, aren't you, Jon?" He raised his brows suggestively, with an exaggerated leer at Alanna.
Alanna was all glares. "You've figured me out," she deadpanned. "I've been harbouring a secret lust for Jon for all these years."
Jon chuckled. "Of course I'm interested," he said, giving Alanna a hand up. "You sure she's gorgeous, Gary?"
"She's a goddess," he said reverently.
Adopting the proper escorting position, Jon led Alanna across the floor, following Gary.
Before they even reached the centre of the commotion, Alanna saw the large, male crowd.
"Well," Alanna said. "That answers your question, doesn't it, Jon?"
Using his sheer sense of presence, Jon parted the crowd. At the very centre of the huddle, was a brown-haired girl with a green dress.
Of course, this was only what Alanna saw. Undoubtedly, her friends were seeing something very different.
She stood immediately at the sight of the Prince and curtseyed gracefully. "Your Highness," she said in a soft, husky voice. "It is a pleasure to meet you."
Gary hastened to make the introductions. "Delia of Eldorne, this is his Highness, Prince Jonathan, and his squire, Alanna of Trebond."
Almost as if Alanna didn't exist, Jon and Delia drifted together. Her lips were slightly parted, and her eyes were inviting. She extended one slim hand, which Jon promptly kissed. "Welcome to Court, lady Delia," he said, his voice lowly seductive. "It is rare for such a beauty to grace our eyes."
Alanna forced a smile, curtsied and turned to go. "I think it is time to feed Faithful," she muttered, in case anyone was paying attention.
However, Delia jumped up immediately. "Oh! Alanna!" She picked her skirts up, and glided over to Alanna. "I have heard so much about you! You defeated that terrible Tuisane knight, didn't you? It is wonderful to meet a woman of such… strength, and valour!"
"How delightful to hear so," Alanna said, forcing a smile. "It was just a duel, really. Nothing exciting."
"And I hear you have the most adorable cat!" Delia continued. "We absolutely must catch up some time, girl to girl!" She looked around her prettily. "You're surrounded by all these big, strong men. You lack feminine ties, Alanna! Visit me someday! We will have a nice, long chat! My friends and I are all very interested in learning self-defence!"
"I'm certain these big strong men would be all too happy to teach you self defence," Alanna said pointedly. She was beginning to get a headache. She tried to edge away, again.
This time, it was Jonathan who spoke. "I agree with you, Lady Delia," he said. His attention was entirely fixated on her. "Alanna does lack friends of her own gender, and it incapacitates her greatly. It is very generous of you to make an offer."
Thousands of retorts were at the very tip of her tongue, but Alanna held her silence. Fuelled by visions of nasty revenge, Alanna gritted her teeth in a smile, before fleeing the scene.
Delia, as it turned out, was one big fake.
All her 'chats' were dominated by enquiries about Jonathan. What did he like? What did he dislike? She couldn't resist adding in a comment that maybe, just maybe, was his relationship with Alanna entirely platonic?
"Do be truthful," she said. "I would understand completely if you confess…"
"I have nothing to confess," Alanna said, quite honestly, as she eyed the door and planned escape.
Whenever the topic of the their 'chats' were brought up near Alanna's friends, Delia would make up stories of what Alanna had told her. That, or she would take one miniscule detail and exaggerate it greatly.
She managed to blow up events so that Alanna saying 'Gary is good a fencing' was translated to 'Gary is good', in the strictly non-platonic sense.
It had taken weeks to patch up the misunderstanding.
The worse thing was that Delia's presence was unavoidable, and frequent. Alanna was so awkward whenever Delia's name was brought up, that her friends began to assume bizarre things.
It was Gary who had the courage to bring it up. "Alanna, you don't happen to… you don't really… you don't like girls, do you?"
Alanna, who was drinking tea, looked up blankly. "What do you mean?"
"I mean - you know. You don't prefer girls."
She spat her mouthful of tea all over the carpet, coughing. "Gods, no!" she spluttered. "Whatever gave you that idea?"
"You don't seem to fancy anyone, and Delia often…"
"Delia's a bitch!" Alanna said harshly, the word coming out before she even realised. She instantly clamped her mouth shut, knowing that it hadn't been quite the best thing to say.
Her friends were - one word - SMITTEN.
Jonathan often wrote poetry for Delia, and spent hours reciting his (horrendous) creations to Alanna, pleading for her an honest opinion (which she could never give. His poetry was terrible).
Gary and Raoul had fought over her riding glove, which eventuated in a duel. Duke Gareth had to send them to opposite border patrols, to cool off. The best thing that resulted out of that fiasco was that Sacherall and Douglass were taken with their knight-masters as well. Both were equally, if not more, smitten by the brunette.
Gary instantly leapt to Delia's defence. "I'm sorry if you were offended, Alanna," he said brusquely, "but I feel as though you don't know Delia at all. There is a lot more to her than you think there is."
Alanna, mopping up the mess, gave a wane smile. "Oh, I'll bet," she said.
A/N: This hasty editing job was all done in one day. So now, it is three a.m in the morning. It is lucky I have holidays now, no?
Things have changed. I hope you like this. With luck, an update should occur... soon... :)
Updating it was a bitch, so I hope people who had been following this (do any of you still come here anymore, anyway?) will understand why I couldn't provide new content, just yet. Every. single. chapter has been rewriten.
Thank you to: Tomato Beatles Fan, HuntressDiana, Dysphoria, Arcander and Chopstix.