In Which Camaline Justifies It as Practice

February 20, 1167

"...but Eblor's sister said she would lend me one of her old dresses," Aydelle chattered on about what she might wear for her wedding to the steward. Such topics ordinarily bored Camaline, and never had she thought might have ever ventured to the servants' quarters for mere chit-chat one day, but there was something special about Leara's maid; somehow, she seemed a world above the other servants, the gentlefolk, the nobles, and even Camaline herself. "Of course, it would have to be brought in at the sides; she's a healthy sort of plump, and I doubt that any dress of hers would fit skinny old me."

Camaline rolled her eyes. "What are you talking about? There's not a thing wrong with your figure." There really wasn't; she was slender where she was supposed to be slender and firm where she was supposed to be firm. A Corinthian sculpture could not have been more ideal in its proportions.

"Are you blind?" the girl scoffed; had she been anyone else, Camaline would have been enraged at such an address, but somehow, Aydelle never seemed out of line. "Honestly, Cammie, you're only ten and you already rival me in bust size; if these tiny things are all I have at fourteen, then I doubt I'll end up with much more."

Was it in good taste to discuss bust sizes? From her casual manner, Aydelle might as well have been talking about tapestries--and yet, tapestries had never been so interesting. "They are not tiny."

Aydelle giggled, yet another thing that only she could do without driving Camaline mad. "Oh, Cammie, you sweet little darling! I always forget just how little you know of the world. Believe me, these are nothing--less than nothing, perhaps."

"Eblor seems to like them," Camaline muttered, the steward's name leaving a vile taste in her mouth.

"Honey, the man looks like something that fell out of a monkey's ass; when it comes to women's body parts, he likes anything he might have a chance of actually seeing."

Camaline snorted, then ducked away in embarrassment--of all the people in front of whom to snort! "If he's so repulsive, then why are you marrying him?"

Aydelle shrugged, not taking her eyes off her reflection. Not that Camaline could blame her, she supposed; if she looked like Aydelle, she might have spent hours on end in front of a mirror, just admiring herself. "I'm not picky. Besides, he is a steward--you can't marry much higher without breaching the nobility, which a lady's maid such as myself can't even dream of ever doing."

Camaline sniffed; since when had anyone degraded themselves in front of her and not earned her complete agreement? "You could have anyone you want."

"Thanks, darling, but we both know that ain't true--not all of us can have a future baron, you know," Aydelle reminded her with a wink. She was talking about Sparron; Camaline wasn't sure how she felt about that. "Took some crafty measures for me to nab the steward, even."

Camaline raised an eyebrow. "Crafty measures?"

Aydelle wheeled about, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her nearer; as a rule, Camaline did not like to be touched, but she was willing to make an exception. "I suppose I can't expect a little girl like you to know what I'm talking about," she sighed, her breath tickling Camaline's flesh as her voice funneled into her ear. "I'm pregnant."

"Oh." She had to admit that this still didn't make a whole lot of sense. How did one get pregnant, exactly? It must have been more than just kissing, because Leara had kissed Lorn and she'd never gotten pregnant. Perhaps it was that most unhygienic practice of kissing with the tongues? It was almost nauseating to think of Aydelle doing something like that with someone as vile as Eblor. But still, she had heard of this sort of occurrence in passing. "Is a steward really obliged to marry a maid in that situation, though?"

As she tossed back her head, a dismissive laugh rang from Aydelle's lips. "In this case, he is. He's from a peasant family, whereas my parents were gentlefolk. He's really only your father's steward due to a lack of anyone more suitable for the position; I doubt he would have gotten the job if his sister hadn't married Falidor."

"In any case, I hope the baby looks like you," Camaline told her.

The older girl snickered. "Me too."

Still, how was it that she had settled for a man with a face that could make an ogre cry? If it was a steward she was after, she might have landed a Falidor, or a Florian, or an Aldhein. She could have even tried for a reeve, or maybe a knight. Hell, common birth aside, Camaline could think of no reason why even a king would refuse her. She might have married Ietrin and made a lovely queen--and a much more fascinating sister-in-law than bland, doughy little Jeda, to be sure.

But instead, she had gone and tongue-kissed ugly old Eblor, and was now doomed to spend the rest of her life raising his ugly old babies. What a waste. And yet, Camaline could not help but wonder... "What's it like?"

Aydelle frowned. "What's what like?"

"Kissing a boy."

The older girl's head tilted slightly, the exposed skin of her neck gleaming like the full moon as the candlelight hit. "Your baron's son hasn't shown you yet?"

Sparron again? If there was anyone more boring than Jeda, it was Sparron--still, at least she supposed he was much better than Eblor. "No. Should he have?"

"Well, he might be too young to even know what to do himself," Aydelle mused aloud, "but no matter. Here, allow me."

Before Camaline could inquire as to what she meant, Aydelle's soft fingertips rested on the hinge of her jaw and slowly slid to her chin; they felt not like fingers that handled silk, but silk itself. "He usually touches you before he kisses you. Sometimes, he takes you by the chin and tilts your face upwards, since he's usually taller." Likewise, she nudged Camaline's ever gently; her almond eyes were even more exotic from the angle.

"And then he draws you just a little bit closer," she continued in barely more than a whisper. Camaline felt the distance between them decreasing, though she could not be sure that either of them had moved; perhaps this was how falling objects viewed the ground.

Camaline felt her spine tremble in anticipation; she'd had no idea how much she'd cared about kissing until just now. "And then?"

Aydelle pressed one silken finger to Camaline's lips. "Don't say anything."

She had been told that many times over the course of her life, but never before had she obeyed.

The girl lowered her hand and laced it under Camaline's arm, her other hand following suit on the other side. "Then he wraps his arms around you, and you wrap yours around him."

It seemed it was finally her turn to do something. She placed her hands on Aydelle's shoulders and allowed them to follow the curve of the bone; she found it was not nearly so awkward as she might have expected.

She froze in suspended shock as Aydelle's forehead met her own, a shock that only deepened as their noses did the same. She was both horrified and appalled--and yet, she could no more deny the need to know what happened next than she could the rapid beating of her frenzied heart. "And then..."

People always said that lips felt like rose petals. They said that kisses tasted like honey. Clearly, they had never kissed Aydelle; rose petals were suddenly burlap, and honey soured to vinegar. Not even the most sublime of poets could find a way to describe this kiss without trivializing it; Aydelle's lips put roses and honey to shame.

Camaline wondered how many boys Aydelle had kissed. Perhaps there had been other girls as well--she certainly didn't seem to find it at all unusual. She must have kissed a hundred people, if not more; yet, Camaline doubted that any one of them had truly appreciated her kiss for no less than it truly was.

"Well," the older girl began as they parted, her hand slinking up to Camaline's shoulder, "you're a fast learner, Cammie. Are you sure you've never done that before?"

Camaline nodded, her neck surging with the pulsing aftereffects of the kiss. Would anyone be able to tell? Was it wrong to kiss another girl? Perhaps she could justify this on the grounds that it was just practice. Yes--it was practice.

And yet, practice was supposed to be a tiresome chore.

Her soft knuckles rubbing against Camaline's cheek, Aydelle ran her fingers through the dull sandy strands of her hair. "Your hair is really soft. If your sister had any taste, she'd have her dresses made from this--but it's a good thing she doesn't, because it looks so pretty on you."

Camaline sighed. "Aydelle..."

Abruptly, her hand fell to her side. Had she gotten the impression that Camaline had wanted her to stop? "Yes?"

"What's it like with the tongues?"

Laughing under her breath, Aydelle wrapped her arms around Camaline's torso and locked her hands at the small of her back. Remembering that step from the first process, Camaline placed her own around Aydelle's neck. Was she perhaps supposed to run her fingers along the skin this time? She did; Aydelle didn't seem to mind. "Now... first of all, he'll give you this look. You'll know it when you see it..."

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