In Which Camaline Consents to the Worst Idea

April 2, 1171

Camaline had been pacing about her room for so long now that it was a small miracle the floor still held. Her maid had gone out for her oh-so-mysterious herbal mixture some hours prior, but Camaline didn't think she could breath easy again until she returned; it had been a few days already, and her nosy stepmother was likely growing suspicious.

Just her luck--that stupid slut couldn't keep her legs shut and she would be the one in trouble for it. It just wasn't fair!

"Camaline?" And so it began; at the sound of her sister's voice from the corridor, Camaline wiped her sweating palm against her skirt. "Camaline, Laralita said she wanted a word."

Damn that useless servant! "Is Issa back yet?"

Silent, Leara stepped into the room. The glint in her eye was ample evidence that she knew exactly what Camaline was talking about. "So you're still doing that, then?"

"Well, it's not as if I have a choice; Laralita was insufferable enough when I hadn't started by this time last year, remember?"

Her sister nodded, her neutral mouth pressing into a downward curve; defeated, Camaline approached her and sighed. "Stupid Issa's late again--third time in the past six months, too. Someone needs to get that girl a chastity belt."

Considering, Leara turned to the side and stared at the unsoiled, spotless bedding. She grabbed the end of her braid and began to twirl it between her fingers. "You know, maybe it would be easier to just come clean to Father and Laralita and just wait for it to happen."

Camaline sniffed; had this not been such a grave matter, such a stupid comment might have been amusing. "You know I can't do that. They'll think there's something wrong with me."

"Oh, they will not!" Leara insisted, though something in her manner betrayed that she was not quite convinced. "Some girls just don't get it until later--Aunt Holladrin said she didn't start until she was nearly seventeen, remember?"

"Yes, but Aunt Holladrin spent half her youth confined to bed; women won't get their courses if they're ill enough." Her fist clenched, she bit her lip and glanced to the floor. Leara just didn't understand--and having been so regular from such a young age, she never would. "I've never been ill a day in my life."

Leara's frown deepened. Perhaps some part of Camaline might have felt bad for her had she not been so thoroughly preoccupied; it must have been frustrating, being so intent on reassuring someone who had lost all hope. "Not that either of us can remember, perhaps, but you probably have--and besides, that can't be the only reason."

As if thoughtless, irrational Laralita would consider that. Not even trying to appear optimistic, Camaline hung her head, her teeth grinding the inner lining of her cheek. The rusty taste of blood filled her mouth--why oh why oh why wasn't there blood elsewhere as well? "Let's face it; if I come clean, then make it to fifteen without a single red spot on any of my gowns, they're going to shut me up in a nunnery and leave me there to rot. God, I wish I lived with Aunt Holladrin--she'd never do that to me."

"Cama--oh!" Leara's eyes widened, the curve of her lips suddenly the inverse of its former self. "Camaline! That's it! The sooner you marry Sparron, the sooner you can live with Aunt Holladrin instead of Laralita and just let nature take its course!"

Camaline felt her eyebrow bend to a steep arch; there were so many problems with that idea that she didn't even know where to start. "You have got to be kidding me."

"But I'm serious!" And she did look it. God! Ever since the date of her and Lorn's wedding had been announced, Leara's brain had been steadily melting into a useless pile of mush; it must have been nearly gone now. "If we ask Father and Laralita if we can have a double wedding, they'll be so excited that they'll never notice if you get to be forty and still haven't started your courses. Then, after September, you'll be safe in Tetran with Aunt Holladrin, who knows perfectly well that not everyone starts at the same time and you won't have to pass off your maid's pads as your own anymore."

Unbelievable. Camaline sniffed; she wasn't even sure she was actually hearing this, it made so little sense! "Yes, and I'm sure the baron would be thrilled to have a daughter-in-law who could very well be incapable of giving him a grandson."

"Oh, Aunt Holladrin will talk some sense into him if he has any problem with it," Leara dismissed, the infernal grin on her face unfading; really, Camaline almost preferred the frown. "Come on--I know you don't like Sparron all that much, but you have to marry him eventually anyway, so you might as well just get it over with. Besides, living with him must at least be better than living with Laralita."

"Well, that would be a given."

"So you agree then?" God, that face was painful--how could she say 'no' to such wide eyes? "When should we ask?"

Camaline shrugged. "I'm not asking. I still think this is the worst idea you've ever had--but you may ask if you like."

Her interest at what was surely peak level, Leara cocked her head to the side. "And if all parties involved agree?"

"Then I shall as well." It was remarkable how a little blood--or a lack of therefore--could cause so much trouble. It must have been so damn easy to be a man. "Like you said, I'll have to marry Sparron at some point anyway."

"Exactly." Leara stepped forward and pulled her into a tight hug; somehow, Camaline resisted the urge to squirm. "Just you wait, sister. This will be so much better for everyone--I promise."

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