Aislinn Greer
Shane takes his leave, and in an effort to calm myself down, I walk over to the refreshment table to get something to drink.
I pour myself some punch but find that my hands are shaking, the glass ladle chattering against the crystal cup as I fill it with sweet, red liquid dotted with edible flower petals. Summoned by Sylus, Paige has reluctantly gone to join him, leaving me all alone.
Suddenly aware of someone’s eyes on me, I glance to the side.
A slight, plain young woman with intelligent green eyes is regarding me calmly from where she sits, a book open and facedown on her lap, her hands resting on it. She’s dressed like Echo Flood, in a conservative, multilayered frock with a silver Erthia sphere hanging from it. No makeup. I notice that the hands resting on her book are unmarked, like mine, and it seems incongruous. Her dress pegs her as a girl from a very conservative family, yet she’s unfasted.
“Fallon doesn’t seem to like you,” she comments as she glances over at Fallon, who’s laughing and eating with her friends. She smiles at me sympathetically, her eyes kind. “You’re brave, you know. In your choice of enemies.”
“You don’t like her, then?” I ask, surprised.
The young woman shakes her head. “Fallon? She’s mean as a snake. So are her brothers.” She shoots me a look of caution. “Mind you, if you tell anyone I said that, I’ll deny it.”
I raise my eyebrows, relieved to finally be meeting someone outside Fallon’s social circle. I extend my hand to her. “I’m Elloren Gardner.”
She laughs and takes my hand in hers. “That’s obvious. I’ve heard all about you.”
“Let me guess,” I say guardedly. “I’m the girl who looks exactly like my grandmother?”
“No,” she laughs, “you’re the girl who’s been living under a rock somewhere up north. But I think your real claim to fame is that you’ve never been kissed.”
My face going hot, I sigh and reach up to massage my aching forehead. “I should never have told her that.”
“Don’t worry,” she says, trying to comfort me. “I have been kissed, and it’s overrated.”
I stop rubbing my forehead. “Really?”
“Really. Two people, smushing their mouths together, tasting each other’s spit, possibly with food bits mixed into it. It’s not at all appealing, when you really think about it.”
I let out a short laugh. “You’re a dyed in the wool romantic, aren’t you?”
“I am not the least bit romantic,” she affirms, somewhat proudly. “Romance just complicates life, sets up unrealistic expectations.”
She sits there so neatly, her discreet dress perfectly pressed, her long black hair carefully brushed and pulled back off her face with two silver barrettes.
“Maybe you just haven’t met the right young man yet,” I offer.
“No, I’ve met him,” she says, matter-of-factly. “We’ll be wandfasted by the end of the year. He’s over there.” She gestures with her chin toward the entrance to the large ballroom. “The one just to the right of the door.”
He’s much like all the other young men who are milling about. Square jaw, black hair, green eyes.
I turn back to her. “So you’ve kissed him.”
“Yes, it’s expected.” She sighs with resignation. “They wait so long for...other things, our men. We’re supposed to throw them a bone every now and then, I guess.”
“But you don’t like it.”
“It’s not awful, don’t get me wrong. I mean, it’s tolerable.”
Her lack of enthusiasm makes me laugh. “You make it sound like doing chores!”
“Well, it kind of is.” She’s smiling at me good-humoredly.
“You feel this way, and you’re okay with fasting to him? With marrying him?”
She shrugs. “Oh, Randall’s all right. He’ll make a good fastmate, I suppose. My parents picked him out for me, and I trust them.”
“You mean you had no say in the matter?”
“I don’t need to have a say. I trust them. I knew they wouldn’t pick someone mean. They chose fastmates for my two older sisters, as well.”
I’m fascinated by her complete acceptance of this. “Don’t you want to choose your own fastmate?” Uncle Edwin would never just pick someone for me. Maybe he’d introduce me to someone nice, but he’d certainly leave the decision solely with me.
She shrugs. “It doesn’t really matter who chooses. Most of them are pretty interchangeable anyway. I mean, look at them.” She gestures toward a group of young men dismissively. “It’s hard to even tell them apart.”
She has a point. Looking around the room, I have to admit I’d be hard-pressed to find a memorable face, one that stands out in true contrast.
“What are you reading?” I ask, noticing her book again.
She flushes. “Oh, it’s just a book for University,” she explains, a little too innocently. “I’m getting a head start on my reading.”
The cover confirms what she’s told me: An Annotated History of Gardneria. On second thought, though, the paper cover doesn’t fit the book exactly, hanging a bit over on the sides.
“What are you really reading?” I probe.
At first, her eyes widen in surprise, and then she slumps back in her chair, sighs and hands the book over in mock defeat. “You can’t tell anyone,” she whispers conspiratorially.
I peek under the cover and flip through it. “Love poems!” I whisper back, chuckling. I hand the book back to her and smile. “I thought you weren’t romantic.”
“Not in real life,” she clarifies. “I guess I like the idea of it, though. But I realize it’s pure, unadulterated fantasy.”
“You’re funny,” I say, smiling at her.
She cocks her head to one side, considering me. “And you’re completely different than how I expected you’d be. I’m Aislinn Greer, by the way. My father sits on the Mage Council with your aunt. We’ll be fellow scholars at University.”
“Elloren, I see you’ve made a new friend.”
I turn to find my aunt gliding up to us.
“Good evening, Mage Damon.” Aislinn greets my aunt respectfully as she covers the book with both hands.
“Good evening, Aislinn,” Aunt Vyvian beams. “I was just speaking with your father. So nice to see you here.” She turns to me. “Elloren, I’d like you to go fetch your violin. Priest Vogel would like to hear you perform for us this evening.”
My stomach drops straight through the floor. “Perform? Now? For everyone?”
“Your uncle has told me time and again how extraordinarily talented you are.”
“I’m sorry, Aunt Vyvian... I... I can’t...” I’ve never once performed for a crowd, and just the thought of it makes me feel sick with apprehension.
“Nonsense, child,” Aunt Vyvian says dismissively. “Run along and fetch your instrument. No one keeps the next High Mage waiting.”