Meeting Mason

I walk through the double doors and into the parlor. My breath catches at the size, and I tighten my hand in my sisters, her fingers engulfing mine.
“We’re home,” Elizabeth breaths, amazement coloring her deep voice. Or, at least, deep for a girls. She hates it.
I can’t find my own voice to respond, a lump the size of a golf ball blocking any attempt at noise. So I just nod and tug at the new, itchy material of my dress. The light, sheer layers keep getting caught in my legs as we walk. It’s so inconvenient. I prefer pants, but we have to look our best today for Mason. He is courting us after all.
“Come on!” She tugs impatiently at my hand, making me pick up my hesitant pace. The small heels of my shoes echo across the marble floor as I stumble after her, approaching an even bigger set of double doors.
My breath catches once again at the splendor. I had no clue how faulty my eight year old memory was, but now, four years later, it doesn’t do this place justice.
The deep oak wood shines against the sun setting, which pours in through wide, cross hatched widows that decorate one wall of the parlor. The hall is adorned with no furniture, just gold encrusted designs carved into the opposing, windowless wall. With the colors of the setting sun splashing against the gold and marbled floors, the room looks like a painting.

Elizabeth fixes her gold waves in the reflection of the doors, hands shaking in excitement. I just watch her, not caring about the frizzy mess my own curls are bound to be.
My hands are shaking too, but I’m not excited. I’m scared. I don’t want to be picked. I don’t want to marry him.
He’s my uncle.

She drops her hands from her hair and, without my consent, opens the double doors.

“Welcome home,” a voice beams.
My eyes fall to the voice and immediately I recognize the owner as him. My memory hasn’t failed me here, he hasn’t changed one bit.
We both curtsy and I press my hands to my side, banishing away the shaking which betrays me.
“Thank you, Uncle,” Elizabeth replies politely, eyes trained downward in the clans typical fashion of respect. Looking someone in the eyes is a sign of superiority. No one is superior to Mason.
“Lord,” he corrects. Out of the corner of my lashes, I see him step forward. He tips her chin up with one callused finger. “Not Uncle.” I dare a glance up to see his sharp blue eyes search her face, careful and intentional. I hold down a shiver and train my eyes back to my shoes, which are playing peek-a-boo with the pale green material of my dress. I do not like how he looks at her.
Elizabeth curtsies again. “Lord.”
There is a moment of silence, a ruffle of clothing, and then my skin pricks. His attention has drifted to me.
I curtsy, and near tumble to floor as the excess material from the skirts catches on my heel.
He doesn’t reach out to offer my balance any assistance. I right myself and scowl into my skirts. He chuckles. Heat fills my face, fueled not by embarrassment, but by anger.
“Lord.” I answer, fighting to keep my voice calm.
“They should place you in skirts more often, Esmeralda. They suit you.” His voice is cool, and calm. Like velvet. Only I know not to trust the softness of his words.
“But then how would I fight?” I respond, jerking my eyes up to his.
He raises a brow and for a moment and I tense. I don’t allow myself to lower my eyes, despite how crude the action is. Thickness fills the air of silence.
He laughs- a full belly, rich laugh- and places one sturdy hand on my shoulder. It takes everything I have in me not to knock it off.
“You wouldn’t. Your face is far too pretty to risk with missions. You’d serve us better in skirts and in the kitchen, I think.”
That was more of just an insult; it was a reminder of my place. Everyone- young and old, male and female- serves the clan by offering their service on missions. It’s an honor to do this. We spend the first sixteen years of our lives training and preparing for this. No one wants to be left behind.
I lower my gaze. “Oh, My Lord, I’m sure you don’t. Unless you favor your toast burnt.”
Mason laughs again and drops his hand from my shoulder. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “Let us hope you are better with a sword than you are with toast then.”
I can’t help the small smile that touches my lips. I am.
I feel his eyes linger on me for a moment more before he pulls us both into a brief hug. “Welcome home, you two.” He pulls away, and the smell of burnt incents linger around me in his wake. “It’s been a long trip. Give your sisters my regards and get some rest.”
He turns and exits through a side door. I don’t dare look up again till the sound of his last footsteps fade away.
“Pour l'amour de Dieu!” Elizabeth snaps, slipping into French before she can catch it. She corrects herself, not acknowledging her forbidden slip. “What in the world was that? Do you want to fall out of his favor again? What were you thinking?”
“Nothing,” I mumble, oddly unsettled by the short encounter. That was it? That felt more like a cattle auction than an actual courting. Then again, maybe they weren’t so different. I deliver her a glare and free my arm from her sharp grip. She thinks just because she is older, she can chide me like Mama would.
“Exactly!” she quips, her fingers embedding back into my elbow and pulling me back through the double doors, into the parlor. “Nothing! For the love of God, Esmeralda, don’t screw this up for us!”
“M-me?” I stagger, staring up at her gapingly.
She straightens so fast and so hard, one might think she was just jammed with a hot poker. Last time we were here, in this room, I was eight. Elizabeth was ten and twirling around in her dress; she’s always loved those. There was a special visitor and for the first time- we were allowed to attend the ball.
It was not I who forgot her tongue and told Mason Mamma’s forbidden stories. It was not I who brought everything down.
I don’t have to say anything, my accusation is there without words. Her expression turns stony and cruel, “[i]Casse-toi[i].”
I instantly regret it, but the chance to take it back is lost as she storms away and leaves me in the hallow hall filled with nothing but ghostly memories.