Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO

THE OUTSIDER

T he morning of Spring Day was very apropos of its name, with clear skies, chirping birds, and too much pollen. The season incarnate.

Despite the weather’s optimism, dread weighed like bricks on my chest.

I had known Mav my whole life. I knew he would be a kind and gentle husband. It wasn’t the idea of him specifically that made me feel like oxygen slipped from my lungs but the idea that I would blindly tether myself to him for life. How did people rejoice in such commitment with no knowledge of the world? The finality of it sat unsettled in my stomach like curdled milk.

Such thoughts, mixed with the uncertainty stoked by my father’s words, plagued me all day. From morning chores, through breakfast and mid-day weeding, all the way until I found myself submerged in water, washing the grime from my skin in wait for Gia.

“Terra!” A voice sang through the cracked window to my right. I hoisted myself up, fists clenching on the sides of the tub, to see Gia marching down towards the cottage, carrying what looked like a sherpa’s pack. I giggled to myself. At least if I was going to be dressed up like a doll, the right person for the job would be doing the dressing.

Gia burst through the door a few moments after I rushed to put on some clothes. My room wasn’t big, but it offered enough space for a small bed, a tub, and Gia’s heap of supplies.

She furrowed her brow at me. “Your hair is still wet.”

I just grinned back at her. “You only asked me to be clean.”

Two hours later and well past sundown, I donned my best dress, which Gia had modified to hug my waist tighter and push my chest upwards. The fit flattered my figure, which was a contradiction of soft curves layered over a muscled body. I had never been called petite like Gia—I was average height for a woman and blessed with a strong build. The forest green color complimented my coloring, Gia said—calling to the thin ring of green around my irises.

She piled my butterscotch hair on top of my head with such vigor that tears sprang from my eyes as she worked. Somehow, curls, twists, and beautiful braids fountained from the point on my head where all the hair gathered. She left out strategic wisps, framing my face, and adding a hint of mystery. I never quite knew how she got my soaking wet hair to look like the locks of a goddess, but she had a talent for such things.

We both stared into the small mirror in my room, and she squeezed my hand. “You look radiant, Terra of Argention. Any man would be lucky to win a dance from you tonight.”

Though the thought of dancing with anyone snapped my attention back to the collection of stones that were taking up residence in the bottom of my stomach, I exhaled and met her gaze. “Thank you, Gia. As always, your work is pure sorcery,” I breathed, attempting a smile I knew didn’t quite reach my eyes.

I opened the door to the main room, with Gia in tow, to find my family sitting by the fire. Javis gave out a low whistle and Danson smacked him on the back of his head with a laugh.

Mama sprung up and said, “You look beautiful, darling.” My father, and escort for the evening, rose as well. He wore his finest silk-spun jacket. He said nothing, his dark eyes shining.

“Doesn’t she look just gorgeous,” Gia crooned.

“She looks nothing like us,” Javis remarked.

This earned a scornful look from Mama. “Shut your mouth Javis. Just because Terra is blessed with my family’s genes and you are not, does not give you cause to talk such.”

But he was right. My brothers’ dark eyes and hair matched my father’s, and their sharp cheekbones matched my mother’s. Freckles and soft edges defined my face, and my blonde hair called after no one. “I had a blonde aunt and three cousins,” Mama went on, “all of whom Terra resembles strikingly.”

“Terra, are you ready?” My father cut in.

I nodded, my voice not reaching my lips. I may have been simply Terra of Argention going to a match-making ceremony, but I felt more like Matthias. Headed into battle.

The gathering was small, given our village boasted only two thousand strong. It took place on the sixtieth day of Spring each year. Qualified attendees included all unmarried or not-promised men and women, aged nineteen to twenty-four. It was a great honor to be promised in the first year and a great shame to turn twenty-five with no match.

The process was simple. A man would ask a woman to dance, she would accept, and they’d dance. As long as the Matron—our glorified match-maker—approved, they were on their way to a several-months courtship and eventual marriage.

Spring Day took place in the town square, close to the market. The air was warm enough to energize, but cool enough to draw people together. I wondered if that was why the ceremony always occurred sixty days into Spring; it was good weather to yield a high crop of matches.

We stepped out of the small buggy pulled by our old mare Gallonberry, and my heart fluttered upon noticing the dancing underway. Girls and boys lined up facing each other, one gender on each side, performing traditional Argenti step dances. The boys, or… men, I supposed, kicked their heels together in the air and spun around, while the women faced their right or left sides, palms touching their female partners while they circled one another. The line dances always fascinated me. Men peacocked, and women batted their eyelashes in flirting. One line responded to another until it ended in bows and curtsies. The men and women retreated to their respective sides, where the women waited with hopeful eyes, and the men busied themselves with anything they could find. Usually, refilling their ale cups.

As far as I could tell, no promise dances, which consisted of one-on-one touching, had yet begun.

I searched my father’s face for any sign of what he said to me the night before. “Please, can’t you stay for the ceremony?”

He smiled and shook his head. “Terra, you know I can’t. Not requiring my presence signals your readiness for the next phase of life. No matter what happens, I am so proud of you.” I had little time to respond, to even contemplate confessing my plans to leave Argention. For he transferred my palm straight to the Matron behind me, and the battle began.

The Matron smelled of strong brandy and foreign perfume, likely bought with the taxes she collected from the town for her match-making services. I trusted her less than I trusted my old mare to make it up a steep hill.

“Time for your metamorphosis,” she sneered. And then she turned to project to the gathering. “Our next guest is Terra of Argention, aged nineteen, daughter to mine worker Ravello and jam-maker Katalana. This is her first Spring Day, and she is now eligible for invitations.”

As is custom with new bachelors and bachelorettes, the Matron led me to the middle of the square. The men and women had stilled upon her words and formed two separate lines again, but this time not for dancing. Every woman’s opening entrance resulted in a grand ordeal, given it was the men’s first chance to ask her to dance. For the most desirable women, there could be several men on one knee signaling their intent. If more than one did so, the Matron would pick whomever she deemed to be most suitable. Then the woman could accept or decline. If there were no men, the Matron would deposit the girl at the end of the women’s line and the dancing would resume.

Men only typically knelt, from what Gia told me, if competition was anticipated. If a match was publicly speculated, like mine and Mav’s, the man might ask afterward, in his own private way. He would have little concern that another would try to compete.

“The first chance to ask for Terra’s dance is now,” the Matron boomed. “As we pass each man, he will have the opportunity to kneel. She will not decide until we have passed each and every one of you.”

I let my gaze lift from the ground and settle on the two long lines of decorated bodies. About forty men and forty women made up each side. My throat felt like I’d swallowed hay, and my heartbeat reverberated throughout my body. I’d always thought of myself as brave, ready to tumble down a hillside or jump over a wide, rushing creek. But here, I stood frozen.

The Matron nudged me forward at my low back, likely to straighten my spine, as well as spur my advance, and the procession began. I was torn between looking the men in their faces to project strength or withholding eye contact to avoid encouraging any unlikely desires. What I settled on I can only imagine looked like erratic head jerking, but if it deterred any suitors, it was all acceptable to me.

The crawling pace of my walk made me acutely aware of being picked over by every woman sizing me up with her nose in the air, and every man sizing me down as he looked at my neckline. Eventually, at about halfway, I saw Mav’s face at the end of the line. I had to admit, I felt relieved to see him. He placed a fist over his heart, the Argenti gesture of comradeship we used to perform during make-believe war as kids. I expected him to look at me without an ounce of stress in his body—his default demeanor was an almost unnatural ease. But I sensed an unfamiliar stiffness in him.

He was worried. Why? Does he know of my plans?

Two heartbeats later, I noticed movement in my left periphery. Then, the Matron halted. Why were we stopping?

I stilled, as it seemed the world around me had. A man lowered himself to one knee. The blood drained from my face. There was a man on his knee, and it wasn’t Mav.

It was the man from the market. His pushed-back hood revealed coiffed blonde hair. He looked to be late into his twenties and peered up at me with those eerie blue eyes, a sinister leer on his face.

A feeling like spiders running along my skin swept up the back of my spine.

What in the gods’ names is an outsider doing here, let alone kneeling for me? My jaw dropped, but no words formed.

“Rise traveler,” the Matron spoke for me. “What is your name, why do you request Terra of Argention’s hand, and what think you to give in exchange for a daughter of Argention?”

Dowries were not necessarily custom amongst the Argenti, unless one’s daughter was so sought after that a match could only be determined with a sum in gold (not silver, of course, we didn’t need silver). However, they were absolutely required if an outsider kneeled for a daughter of Argention. The town and family would have to be compensated for the loss of a healthy, breeding-aged woman. It had only happened three times. Ever. All three of those requests were for women whose beauty had been so renowned and captivating that travelers spread stories to other villages and kingdoms. Young dukes or princes had come searching for a pliable and striking country wife, instead of the power-hungry courtiers lined up for them.

I harbored no delusions of my beauty. I was neither ugly nor breathtaking. Which begged the question—why would an outsider come for me ? He would’ve had to know our matching traditions. Hell, he would have had to have known me.

The man stood, shadows crossing his face from the flickering firelight. He towered over me at an unnatural height. He would have even looked down on my father and brothers, who were considered taller than most.

“I am the lumberer Fayzien, of the offshore Kingdom Wahaca,” his voice almost sang. “I would like to ask Miss Terra of Argention to dance by way of formally courting her. I can offer the village of Argention her weight in gold as a dowry.”

The Matron snorted. “How could a lumberer have so much gold? And even if you did, why would you want to spend it on her?”

I glanced down the line at Mav. His eyes darted from the man and locked with mine. He tapped his heart with his fist again.

The stranger examined his immaculate nails, seemingly annoyed. “I am a favored lumberer of the king. He pays me in kind. I have come here to find a bride, and I noticed Terra selling jam in the market. She is the one I want.” He looked at the Matron once more. “If you do not trust my word on the gold, you need only to look behind you.”

Not much of an answer about why he chose me , but then the Matron turned around to find several of his men holding large sacks, undone at the neck, revealing the shine of gold.

The Matron’s mouth spread wide. “Very well. Your offer is acknowledged. You may kneel once more.” A sinking realization hit me—the Matron would be able to choose which match she viewed to be the most suitable.

You still have the power to decline , Terra .

My heart pounded so violently that it took shape as a ringing in my ears. The man called Fayzien seemed to notice my unease, his interest turning predatory as he resumed kneeling. A hint of a smirk held more promise of cruelty than romance, and I knew something was very wrong.

The Matron tugged me after her. I should have been relieved no other surprises presented, and that, in the end, only Mav knelt with the stranger. But relief felt inaccessible, as my plan to politely decline Mav’s offer in private had become priority number five hundred. The first four-hundred and ninety-nine priorities would be to stay the hell away from that blue-eyed man.

After what had been about five minutes, but felt like an hour, the procession finished. We turned around to face the two lines, and the Matron spoke again. “As is the Argenti custom, I have made my decision about the most suitable match for Terra. In this tradition, the man I choose will ask Terra to dance, which signals a request for a formal courtship.”

The Matron took a breath, to play up the drama of the moment. “The man I have chosen is Fayzien of Wahaca.”

My heart raced faster, though I had expected this. Of course, she would choose the option with a price. I looked at Mav and gave him a reassuring nod. I would not accept the outsider’s invitation to dance, which was my right.

“But this situation is one of delicacy,” she continued before I could get a word in. “As a profound offer has been made by an outsider. No viable courtship can be conducted across sea-separated kingdoms, and as such, Fayzien of Wahaca has proven his commitment and dedication to Terra of Argention with a more than fair bride price. I hereby remove Terra’s burden of choice to accept or deny Fayzien’s request and dismiss the required courtship. I pronounce Terra of Argention and Fayzien of Wahaca betrothed, and as such, demand full dowry payment in kind, to be accepted by me on behalf of the people of Argention. Fayzien of Wahaca, do you accept the terms of your betrothal?”

Fayzien didn’t bother meeting the Matron’s gaze. Triumph lined his irises as they swept over me, from head to toe, sending a spear of terror through my spine. He rose and bowed with the grace of a wildcat moving through tall grass, assessing its prey. “I accept.”

“You can’t do that!” Mav shouted. But the Matron paid him no mind. She was looking at the bags of gold loaded at her feet. And when I searched the crowd for support, I saw only the same thing. Their attention was not upon Mav, nor the strange man, nor me. It fell on the bags and bags of gold.

I looked back at Mav. His mouth formed an unmistakable word.

Run.