In Which Jeda Is Told What Wouldn't Be Trouble

September 2, 1171

As expertly as Jeda's hair had been pinned, the fancy up-do might as well have been a sack of molten lead. Yes, she'd always had thick, curly hair, but she almost always wore it long and never before had it seemed such a weight--not even when dripping, soaking wet. It was beautiful and intricate and effectively perfect, but it was more of a burden than she felt she could bear; it was almost as if she felt unworthy of it.

Unworthy of a hairstyle? Even in her head it sounded silly. Then again... did it? Perfect hair. Perfect flowers. Perfect dress. Maybe such things were only cheap parodies on someone so thoroughly flawed.

She was in the king and queen's bedchamber--her future bedchamber, she supposed. The queen and Holladrin and a bitter Catherelle had overseen the maids and seamstresses as they made their finishing touches on Jeda's hair and outfit, then the servants had left and the ladies had taken to cooing over how pretty she was--not that she'd believed them. The queen, no doubt, had been indulgent, and Catherelle must have gushed only out of duty. Holladrin might have been honest, but she was Jeda's stepmother; she had to think she was pretty.

She'd told them she was feeling a little overwhelmed and needed a minute alone, which hadn't been a lie; she was overwhelmed, and she did need a minute alone. As of last night, she was an official resident of the castle and had since been left alone only to sleep--and even then, not for very long. It would have been nice to have spent that last night at home, but the king and queen had insisted that no time be wasted, so here she was: an invited intruder, stifled yet aloof.

God, she wanted to go home! It was only an hour or so on horseback, but today, it seemed a world away. She missed the familiar rooms, the long halls in which she and Sparron had raced as children. She missed the familiar faces of the servants and the predictable neighing of the horses in the stables. She missed the cats that used to loiter in the courtyard, all those cute little strays that her stepmother loved and that her father pretended to like. More than anything else, she missed her family--and that void would grow with each passing day, she was sure of it.

But, just as she was about to plunge into utter misery, a safety net arrived in the form of a knock on the door. "Jeda?"

Her reflection smiled; therefore, she could only conclude that she was smiling as well. "Father!"

Her grin swelled as he stepped into the room and through the gap between the screens, then--not as mindful of her dress and hair as the queen might have preferred--she launched herself into his arms. She'd seen him the previous morning, just before she had left, but that might as well have been months ago now. "Father! You're here!"

"Of course I'm here." He placed his hands on her shoulders and kissed her on the forehead. "You didn't think I wouldn't come and see you before the ceremony, did you?"

She started to shake her head--although if she was honest with herself, she might have resigned herself to doubt. "I've missed you."

She half-expected him to laugh and remind her that it had only been a day; instead, he only nodded. "I've missed you too, angel. You look beautiful."

Jeda grimaced; it was rather bittersweet, realizing that the only man who had and likely ever would tell her she was beautiful was her father. "Thank you."

He gave her an honest, somber sort of smile, then looked toward the couch just behind the mirror. "Might we have a word?"

Obliged, Jeda turned around and proceeded to the sitting area, collapsing onto the seat occupied by Holladrin earlier; her father followed.

He took a minute to contemplate before speaking, as though unsure how to phrase what he was about to say. "Jeda... you know that I don't think this marriage is the best of ideas, correct?" She nodded, not certain if she meant to confirm or agree--or perhaps both. "I tried to buy you more time, you know. I never wanted you to marry so young, and I certainly think you could do better than Ietrin. When his father told me that a date had been set, I tried to protest, but the stubborn ass wouldn't budge."

She didn't think she had ever seen him like this--not even all those years ago when her mysteriously absent mother had finally returned in the form of a headstone in the crypt. He looked hopeless and disgusted with himself, as if he had failed her. He hadn't, but she doubted she could convince him of that. "I'm sorry, Jeda."

"It's all right." She stretched her arms to her knees and met his eye. She wished he would smile, but she didn't think he would unless she did first--and Lord knew her store of smiles was exhausted. "I was going to have to marry him anyway, wasn't I? Might as well get it over with."

Her father sighed. "But it's your whole life, Jeda."

She shrugged. "I don't know what else I would have done with it. I was always going to marry Ietrin; I've known that for as long as I can remember. It's what Mother wanted."

Unsettled, her father sat down beside her, his head bowed and his eyes skeptical. "Jeda, your mother was a very... complex woman. What she wanted when you were a baby isn't necessarily what she would have wanted now. You and Ietrin are two very different people, and if nothing else--given the uh, circumstances--I don't believe your mother would have wanted to see you married to someone with whom you were completely incompatible, no matter how convenient a match it was for her."

She would have take his word on that; as little as she suspected he actually knew her mother, she had to admit that she herself couldn't claim to have known her any better. "All right..."

"Anyway, what I wanted to say was--" he paused, no doubt rearranging the words in his mind once again before letting them breach his mouth "--if you ever want to come home, either for a short break or for good, I hope you know that we'll take you in with open arms. If things get to be too much to handle here... well, you'll always have a place with us."

Jeda folded her hands in her lap, her thumb furrowing into the groove beneath her knuckle with a force she hadn't been expecting. "I know."

"You won't forget that?"

"I won't."

Her father placed his arm on the back of the couch and slouched. "You know, if you want to go home right now, then I'm sure your brother could stall for time while you--"

She shook her head, then leaned to meet him in the middle, her head resting against his. "Father, you already punched the king; I don't want you getting into any more trouble over me."

"It wouldn't be trouble."

Jeda sighed. It would have all been so much easier had that been true.

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