Chapter Two
A Meeting
Irel, being the only capital city of the small planet, benefited from the queen’s good grace and was henceforth green and fertile. In actuality, much of the planet was lush and verdant but none so fine as the capital itself, the jewel in Uno’s crown. Since much of the economy was already spent upon purchasing water, it made economic sense to Uno for much of the water to be used as a showcase for her power and success as a monarch. Pockets of green existed around each cluster of housing where the inhabitants all had small cottage gardens of vegetables. Much of the produce had originally come as seed or sapling from earth as part of a project to make all of their system’s planets sustainable. Tomatoes grew, smaller but tasty, as did courgettes, peas, beans, peppers and pumpkins. Other friendly planets had also assisted and growing in abundance on Uno’s planet were strangely shaped and vividly coloured produce from all over the galaxy. Meat was farmed in much the same way and long horned gazelle from the arid regions of Africa survived in their conditions well. Each settlement had a band of farmers although some wandered nomadically selling their wares.
In front of the palace was a gargantuan fountain carved from the warm orange, natural stone of the planet. Central to this fountain, was a giant scallop shell from which spilled precious, clear water and where foamed and dropped a skirt of rainbow shimmering liquid into a large pool. Rising from the shell, was a woman’s curvaceous figure, with flowing hair carved lovingly to drape over her naked breasts. She was holding a spear and shield to symbolise the strength of the Irellan queens. This fountain cascaded into a giant saucer which fed the beautiful carpet of plants and foliage which formed the floral approach to the palace grounds.
Outside the rocky walls of the palace, on one side, the ground immediately gave way to a burnt orange sand, dotted every so often with a large cactus providing water for thirsty travellers. On another side, the ground gave way to a large chasm, a place where nothing grew, too arid and inhospitable in its Thornitude to serve as anything else than a barrier of protection.
Inside the palace, built from the same orange rocks whose surfaces had been lovingly sanded smooth by the hands of ancient architects, Queen Uno was on her way to her daughter Talia’s bedroom. As usual, she was followed by Brandana, her flowing blanched tresses bringing bright colour to her otherwise drab black, sari uniform. As the queen stopped, Brandana opened the door and bowed to let her pass, scowling once her superior was out of sight.
Talia was sitting at an easel painting the landscape in watercolours, wearing a silken night robe. Brandana glanced at her work. It was runny and shapeless. The girl dreamily put down her palette and her mother eagerly took her hands. A mirror image of her mother, Talia had the traditional Irellan golden skin, alive with flecks of metallic tones, and the hair tied up into a triangle. Both of them had eyes that burned with the molten amber sun which radiated in the heat of their glares. Both smiled with their tight pink lips and greeted one another with the traditional handshake, the elder cupping the hands of the younger.
“Talia, my love,” Uno smiled, a gesture reserved only for her daughters whom she truly loved. “Tonight you will meet your intended.”
Talia lowered her eyelids. “Oh.”
“Are you not pleased?”
“Yes, Mother, if you say I should be.”
“I do, my pet, but your demeanour makes me dissatisfied. Should you not be excited for this monumental occasion? Like him, who I met earlier today, you are nervous? It is to be expected. I suppose I once was myself, not that I can remember those foolish days now.”
“You have seen him? Mother, what is he like?”
Queen Uno stifled a heavy sigh. “It has to be said that he is beautiful. He is indeed very handsome.”
“I wish…”
“What, Talia?” snapped the queen.
“Oh, it doesn’t matter.”
“It obviously does or you would not have interrupted me. Now, tell me.”
“For a moment I just wished to have some knowledge about his personality—”
“Talia! Your request offends me greatly.”
“I know, Mother, I’m sorry. It’s not—”
“It’s not tradition.” The queen finished her daughter’s sentence. “Such trivia is unimportant right now. There will be plenty of time to discover his personality when you are wed but don’t forget, he is trained to make his personality and everything else about him please you. This is the way of things.”
“Of course.” Talia blushed and shuffled uncomfortably on the spot.
“I must dress.”
“Brandana is here to lay out your traditional wrap and make your toilette. Now I will give you your privacy. You have one hour. Your father and I will bring him to your room.”
“Mother, wait, what is his name?”
Uno wagged a spiny finger, “You know I cannot reveal that. He will tell you himself in good time. Come now, no tears.”
“Sorry, Mother,” said Talia as her mother made a swift departure.
* * * *
Brandana could sense her mistresses shaky emotions. Being an empath, she felt everything and wished that she could wrap her arms around the girl. About the same age, both nineteen, they were at the same stages of their lives in so many ways but yet the strict caste system on Irella prevented such a show of kindness. Should Brandana touch Talia, she could be lashed twenty times as a punishment.
“Shall I begin the clothing ritual?” Brandana asked, not making eye contact with her superior as boundaries decreed.
“Yes,” she answered without force or relish.
Irella was a place heavily steeped in tradition. It seemed there had been nothing new added to their history for eons, apart from the irrigation system her mother kept fed with water. Both girls knew what they must do.
Talia undressed herself which took a very short time. She undid the bow and let her silk nightgown, navy blue and patterned in gold stars, slip over her skin to the plush pink carpet of her room. She trod quietly to the full-length mirror held fast by two gold plated dragons on either side, the symbol of their family name. Brandana busied herself in her wardrobe but from the corner of her eye watched as Talia examined her own body. Her metallic skin caught the last of the sunlight and twinkled faintly. A mound of downy hairs barely covered her modesty, silky as a rabbit, and her breasts glowed like two small globes. Talia sighed and Brandana guessed she was afraid that she would never be touched by anyone in a flurry of real passion.
Brandana slowly walked around her, draping a white garment over her arms. Talia lifted up her slender arms and Brandana slipped it carefully over her head, certain her mistress was coated in material before she began the adjustments.
Around her shoulders was a thin, golden hoop covered in soft voile fabric, like suede to the touch, but sheer. Lifting up the hoop and the cowl, Talia’s hair was covered by the soft material, the pointed tip of her triangle showing proudly, a symbol of her regal standing, the covering symbolic of the hymen of virginity. The soft fabric fitted to Talia’s willowy body like a coating of butter. The top dipped into soft folds to reveal her shining chest. From the waist flowed layers of netting spun from pure gold, dotted occasionally with glimmering golden sequins. In front of her delicate feet, Brandana placed a pair of golden slippers, plain and rounded to symbolise femininity. Talia stepped into them and sighed again.
To finish the ritual, Brandana brought out a tray of Thornid gold jewellery. Irellans have a small amount of metal flake in their systems and therefore can create magnetic patterns upon their skin with metal jewellery. Brandana knew the traditional meeting night pattern she must create upon Talia’s chest. A complicated design made from a mosaic of golden shapes from the tray; trapeziums, diamonds, triangles, abstracts, to create the face of a dragon. Carefully, she placed each piece upon her mistress with a pair of diamond encrusted tweezers whilst Talia waited with a patience befitting a royal virgin bride to be.
Once finished, Brandana curtseyed and moved away, backing out of the room subserviently. She would be required to wait at the secret side entrance to the bedroom for safety should the two youngsters either love or hate one another too much.
* * * *
Talia admired herself in the mirror. Tradition, in this instance, was certainly beautiful even if it was only skin-deep. A quick glance at the clock and knock at the door told her that her hour of Thornitariness was ended.
“Enter,” she allowed.
Uno stood sanctimoniously in front of her intended, proud as a peacock. “My sweet, I bring this man for your approval. In the time honoured tradition of our wise ancestors, look upon him and smile.”
The king was behind Uno who stepped aside with a priggish glance at Devon before he left, still trailing behind his wife. They were alone. Two strangers. Devon still had dark hair which Talia looked at uneasily.
“What is your name?” she enquired smoothly, aware she was in charge of the entire exchange.
“Devon.”
“What is the matter with your hair?”
“Nothing.”
Talia almost lost her balance, shocked at the outrage of his non-compliance. “But you bipenes are meant to be blond, aren’t you? And shouldn’t you be curlier?”
“If you are dissatisfied, send me away.”
“I might do. You are very insolent.”
“Listen,” Devon began. “You are very pretty, but are you feeling anything? I mean, any spark? How are we meant to be happily married in this stupid, ancient system? Standing here with you, I can tell. There’s nothing between us. No link. No warmth. No romantic glow. You should call in your mother and tell her the deal’s off.”
“Don’t presume to give me orders.” Talia said in an unconvincing reprimand.”How old are you?”
“Twenty.”
“Older than I, just. That will suffice.”
Talia plucked a single gold shape from her chest and offered it to him, aware that her bare skin was about to be touched for the first time by a non-royal. Even though only her fingertip would be touched, she quivered at the thought of it.
“Are you not going to take it?” Talia felt uneasy with this man who would not obey the traditions of their planet.
“I will not. I hate your traditions and refuse to be bonded to a girl to whom I feel absolutely nothing should I touch your skin.”
“I don’t understand what this means,” Talia frowned. “Now you should take the golden shape and, in the passing of ten moons, we will be married.”
“Don’t bank on it.”
“It is not to be?” Talia’s sweet voice shook with nerves. “I am your intended. We are to be married.”
“Listen,” Devon adopted an informal tone quite inappropriate to the situation. “I understand what is meant to be, you and me and all that, but I can’t do it. Sorry. I can’t marry someone I don’t love or, hell, someone I don’t even know. Believe me, you’ll thank me for this one day. One day when I am far away from here.”
“Brandana? Where did you come from?” asked Talia as her servant entered the room from behind an ornate, oriental style modesty screen in pale greens and pinks, decorated with hummingbirds and hibiscus flowers.
“Come with me,” Brandana beckoned to him.
“What are you doing here?” asked Talia as she began to hyperventilate.