Third love

Lior would never lie to me to spare my pride. 

Withholding the truth is another matter, one that I was conscious of and packaged together with her personality. Because it never affected me directly or our friendship, I didn’t care. I poked at it in jest, but refrained from prying from lack of interest. 

Did I know she was attracted to girls? No, that I would’ve found interesting. Her emotions, as a whole, were walled off from the world, and that was something we had in common. Forcing her to talk about these things, despite my aversions to talking about my own, is the opposite of true friendship. 

Our mothers died shortly after one another, and I suspect that was a big reason for our matching walls. Only the other knew what it felt to lose our mothers, and that was enough. During a period where nothing could make us feel okay ever again, we had companionship. There was someone close, who felt the very same spite of the universe. Because it had to be spite, right? Why would a loving God be so cruel as to rip our loved ones away from us?

My mother had been ill for months before she passed, and it came as no surprise. I didn’t cry straight away. There was a weight in my stomach that anchored me to the ground, and it helped that my father held himself similarly. It wasn’t until after the funeral that I found myself hiding behind a maintenance shed in the garden, sobbing into Lior’s black dress as she caressed my hair. 

Her situation differed in the way that her mother’s death was an accident, and as a result unexpected. She’d cried with her father at the news, cried until heart produced no tears. By the time of the funeral, she gracefully held her composure with a stoic, somber expression. We still held one another behind the maintenance shed afterward. I was 11, and she was 10. 

Fourth love

There is a Dofec proverb written by famed poet, Lalel Atar (whom I assumed was dead until a rather awkward encounter at court), that says something about the line between love and hate drawn in graphite or fading ink. I don’t remember the verbiage verbatim. The general idea is that both extremes have more in common than not. 

So I don’t want to say that I grew to hate Fatima Argos when I got to know her, when in truth, I disliked her a moderate, forgettable amount. 

We met her at the market during one of our escapades. She mistook us for orphans, and that was the biggest compliment she could pay our hastily assembled ‘disguises’. Lior and I grinned at each other like we’d won an award. Fati didn’t notice this, likely far too caught up in her own pompousness. 

“You’re not an orphan,” Lior observed, biting into the cookie Fati had given her. 

“Of course I’m not, do I look like one? I’m Fatima Argos, of the Argos family. We own half the square!” she exclaimed, motioning around them. 

That statement was partially true. I didn’t correct her because of my interest in where she was going with her story. By her narrative, she was from a famously wealthy noble family, but she spent a few mornings a week at the square blessing orphans with her presence as an ‘act’ of ‘charity’.

 I word it that way because while there were a few times when she brought homemade treats to pass out, often she would show up with nothing and avoid talking to actual orphans. She eventually deduced that Lior and I weren’t orphans after Lior declined a treat and told her it was best she gave it to someone in actual need. 

“Well, I did think you were too well-spoken to be an orphan,” she said to Lior, then with half-lidded eyes she turned to me. “No offense.”

Correction, she deduced Lior wasn’t an orphan. I couldn’t find it in me to be offended, as her lack of awareness was something to pity. 

Lior waited for me to correct her, but I rolled my eyes instead.

“What is your family name?” she asked Lior. 

We had introduced ourselves by our middle names. A habit we picked up in our misadventures. 

“Saëns.”

Fatima’s bright eyes lit up. Tiny gears were turning in her blue irises. “The Saëns that married into the Elezars? “

Lior nodded. 

The Elezars were the side of her family from Idon, the main line of descendants having their primary residence there. The head of the family, Haime Elezar, was a newspaper magnate who ran printing presses in multiple countries. Alona Mila Saëns met Lord Saëns when she was visiting their newspaper, the Gaidos Gazette, and he was there lending his translation services. 

For all the intelligence Lior has, her sights never fail to shorten at the prospect of making new friendships. And as we sat around the outdoor table, in her dewy eyes, I watched all doubt of Fatima’s intentions float over her head. But the gears in the other girl’s eyes never stopped turning. 

Prior to that day, I wasn’t oblivious to the fact that my friendships with people who weren’t Lior were transactional. It came with the title and the territory. However, that day was the first time I saw the ugliness of those transactional friendships. 

She wasn’t outright rude to me during our outings. She recognized Lior's attachment to me, and I savored the moments when I could see the resentment in the girl’s face. She made it clear that she has little desire to pursue a friendship with myself, and the feeling was mutual.

I long held the suspicion that she wasn’t as wealthy as she let on to be. Had I ever bothered to care to look into that, I would’ve easily verified that. This led to her being a bit of a braggart in her ramblings, which I often tuned out. 

Lior was a natural at making Fati feel like her wealth, or lack thereof, didn’t matter to her. Fati would be surprised at first, before reveling in the possibility of a world where that didn’t truly matter. Later, I would resonate with that. Much, much later. 

“My parents are letting me go to the prince’s birthday celebration this year, they even bought me a new dress,” she blurted suddenly, looking at Lior with sparkles in her eyes. 

“Oh, cool, we’ll be there too,” Lior hummed happily. “It’ll be nice to hang out with you without the whole sneaking around part.”

Fati’s eyes fell on me. The dots connected in her mind, that I too was a noble. And to her credit, that didn’t appear to change her opinion of me. In fact, I got the impression she liked me less in learning the fact. 

Fati was a classic belle. You’ll never hear me say that out loud to anyone. Ever. However, that sentiment does not rewrite history. She was a honey trap.

 When we all formally came out at court in Gaidos this became further apparent. Sons of all kinds of gentry flocked over to her upon her arrival. It became a weekly rotation. She’d attach herself to a suitor, and he’d parade her around like a trophy until he realized her net worth. 

This was what was to come, of course. I’d yet to know this would happen, or I would’ve been kinder to her (or meaner, jury’s out).

I watched her enter the hall in her brand-new light blue gown, and long black hair half up in a weird hair thing that was fashionable then. Her posture was stiff and forced, her chin held high. Her attempt to blend in fell short, there was a very revealing panic in her eyes. She was lost and trying not to appear so. 

The hall wasn’t open to guests yet, it was too early, and the event staff were dashing back and forth setting up.  She sensed my staring and met my gaze. Her eyebrows knit together as she tried to make out if she recognized me or not. I waved rather awkwardly, cursing myself for not waiting for Lior upstairs. 

“You clean up well,” she said in her approach.  “Where is Mila?” Right, she knew Lior as Mila. 

I had been sitting on the stairs, so I stood up and dusted the crumbs off my pants from a pastry I had stolen earlier. “She’ll be out here shortly.” I met her at the bottom of the stairs and motioned for her to follow me down an adjoining corridor. “You know the party doesn’t start for another half hour right?” 

“I heard it was fashionable to be early.”

“I don’t know where you heard that, but you heard wrong.” If anything, people showed up whenever they wanted. My father, sometimes not at all.

“I hear that in Gaidos there’s always a party. 24/7.”

“I don’t know if you’re aware, but we’re not in Gaidos.” Kids weren’t allowed in Gaidos. The ‘palace of the gods’ had no place for kids. God forbid they’re exposed to their parents' debauchery. 

We reached the end of the corridor where it opened out to a small patio. It was quieter, and Lior and I’s prearranged meeting spot. The weather was never quite as beautiful in Zapide as everywhere else. It was always cold, due to how far up the mountain Zapide had been built, and quite often, like that birthday, overcast. 

Mother nature was feeling generous, for my gift she paused the piercing winds our great city was so well known for. 

“But aren’t you looking forward to it? I can’t wait till I’m old enough to go to the Palace of Gaidos,” Fatima lingered in the doorway, distracted by her favorite subject, herself. 

“I don’t know… the palace of the gods sounds like a rather steep promise.” In truth, I had heard stories of great intrigue about the monument, only I had no desire to discuss them with Fati. 

Fortunately, my saving grace was walking down the corridor on her way to join us. 

She greeted Fati first before turning to me and wishing me happy birthday.  I won’t lie and admit that I partly hoped that Fati’s reaction to the news would be a bit dramatic. Or even that she continued to play the dunce and exclaim something like: “You have the same birthday as the prince?”

But no, she had some grace that I didn’t give her credit for. With her composure held, she put together the signs, “Your name is Art– Oh, Valkom Arte Mios.” Her mouth scrunched up, “You… don’t look like a prince.”

“Pray tell me what a prince is supposed to look like, Fati?”

She delved into it without hesitation, “Well one, you’re not attractive. Your eyes are too dark, and your skin isn’t a fair porcelain. Your hair is that awful texture–”

“Really?” I cut her off. “ Well you don’t look like an asshole, but here we are.”

She grinned deviously, she was pressing buttons with intention now, “You don’t talk like a prince either.”

“If you’re looking for Lior she went on a trip to Idon with her father,” The irritation in my voice was from the frustration I had in carrying out the asinine task my tutor left me with, but I could tell from the flash of anger on Fati’s face that she thought it was directed at her. 

She stomped over to my desk with a critical brow, taking one long look at the family tree I was constructing out of stationary, and coolly uttering the word ‘gross’ under her breath. 

“You’re quite the honey trap” I frowned, setting down my shears and pushing myself away from the desk.  “If Lior was here, you’d be batting your pretty little lashes and fawning over one of her boring interests.” 

“That’s because my fascination lies with her, not her interests,” she crossed her arms and shifted her weight onto her right hip. “My friendship with her is genuine, but I agree that I don’t allot everyone that candidness. Some of us can’t afford to.”

“I knew it. Your family isn’t as well off as you’ve implied.”

“That’s no secret,” her eyes glanced over me boredly, “But I’m also not going to sit by idly and do nothing. I know who is worth making an ally and who is not. You should too.”

Her blue eyes met my own, and I didn’t know what they were accusing me of. I knew I didn’t like it, however. 

“What are you talking about?” 

She looked at me in disbelief and bewilderment, her gears turning faster than my own. “How old are you?”

“What’s it to you?”

She grinned deviously, “Of course your father would keep that from you.” She grazed her fingertips over my paper mess. “I’ll leave you to your homework. You obviously have a lot to read on.”

I grabbed her sleeve as she turned to leave, “Fati, you’re dying to tell me, just tell me.” I said, my patience only extending as far as my young age would allow. 

Her mouth twisted, and her nose pinched up in a very unattractive way as she considered it.  “Never mind, I take it back, you probably don’t need to worry about it. Your marriage will likely be arranged to someone of good fortune.”

“Yeah, it’s no big deal. Lots of marriages are arranged.”

“The reason you need to marry well is the same reason I have to marry well.” Her face dropped, her mouth became a hard, thin line. “I dare you. Ask your dad about the mine. Heck, I bet even Lior knows… I don’t envy you in the least.”

I wasn’t privy to the crown’s financial situation, I knew what it had been previously, from academic text, but my father barely gave me the time of day as it was. Likewise, I knew enough that whatever idea Fati had was a general idea. Outsiders were coming to their own conclusions. 

But… speculation is based on something, however ridiculous it may be.

“I may have less of a say in what happens to my family as a girl in our society, but tell me it’s not worth trying?” The expression on her face was as close to empathy she would ever show me. 

“Thank you,” I said. “For telling me,” 

Her ivory skin flushed a soft peach color. I was jealous, as my face always goes a deep crimson when I get flustered. 

She recovered quickly, and cupped her right ear, leaning forward. “Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that, could you repeat that?” she teased.