Heath led Sisi to his cramped office, hidden in the back of the warren of rooms that made up the Gilded Pomegranate. The door was stiff and he had to open it with a judicious application of his boot. Once opened it revealed a messy, cluttered desk, covered in ink pots, quillpens and sheafs of paper. Piles of books were stacked up against the wall, almost completely obscuring the only window and leaving only a slit of faded, dusty sunlight to light the room. The floor was covered in old rag rugs in faded colours and worn fabric. Heath took the only battered chair in the room and motioned to a pile of atlases. Sisi sat down on them, desperately trying not to slide off.

“What did you want to talk about, Heath?” she asked.

“Your play.” said Heath, tugging at his beard. “It was good and people liked it,” he gestured with his hands. “People loved it. It was a success in every way. Which is why I thought I should tell you about the competition.”

“What competition? The other theatres?”

“No, no, a literature competition taking place in Raulnor in a months time. Whoever wins it gets a free scholarship to the Academy of the Arts. I know you couldn’t go otherwise, I know your family wouldn’t allow it. But this-” Heath shook his head. “This is a marvellous opportunity. And with ‘The Noblewoman Gone Mad’ I think you really stand a chance of winning it. I truly do.”

Sisi stared at him, stunned.

“Do you mean it? You think I could actually study at the Academy? That would- But I couldn’t. I mean, my family. I’d have to leave them and they wouldn’t approve.” Sisi shook her head. “I couldn’t do that to them, the shame of a daughter in the theatre...it would be terrible. I couldn’t, I shouldn’t.”

“Of course. It’s your choice. But you can’t live your life to please everyone else forever. One day you’ve got to take a step for yourself. Or you can never say you’ve lived.”

“You have a point. If I do this, I’ll not be welcome at home but if I don’t...” She looked down at her clasped hands, the knuckles even paler than her already pale skin. “If I don’t I’ll always wonder what if?” Heath watched her with an air of concern, his eyes sympathetic. Sisi sat, lost in thought for several minutes. Heath resumed tugging on his beard, as he always did when nervous.

Could she do it? Actually leave her family and her comfortable life for a life as student at the Academy of the Arts? It would be hard, no doubt, living on a scholarship, watching every penny. She wouldn’t be able to take Elizka with her, she’d have to dress herself every day. Most of her clothes were impossible to get into without two people. She didn’t know how to live like a poor person After having lived a life of luxury her whole sixteen years of life it would be difficult, if not impossible, to adjust to such a lifestyle. And what if she ran out of ideas? What if one day her muse just deserted her and left her with nothing but broken dreams? She’d suffered writers block before, what if one day it started and never stopped? What if she got sick? How would she find a doctor, let alone afford one? What did peasants do in that situation? She’d be completely alone in Raulnor, with no friends or family to help her out. She’d be alone in a way she’d never been before. She’d be like a performer on the high rope and there’d be no saftey net...

Sisi felt like such a coward.

“No. Thank you for thinking of me, thank you for believeing in me but I can’t do it, Heath. But thank you, it will always mean a lot to me that you thought I was capable of this,” she said, straighting from her atlas perch.

“It’s your choice. And if you change your mind, you know you can come to me. I’ll help you in anyway I can,” said Heath.

*************************

Sisi left the Gilded Pomegranate and headed for home. Afternoon calls started soon and if she missed any callers her mother would be livid. Not that she spoke to most of them. They were mainly all her mothers cronies who would come for a gossip, tea and the biscuits the Idal family cook was famous for. And of course, lately there had been Genaline’s followers, who crowded around her like bees round a honey pot, each trying to recite a sonnet or poem they had written about her exquisite figure or emerald green eyes. The one good thing about these sycophants visits was that, as was the custom, they brought small posies of flowers with them as gifts for Genaline. They were often beautiful and exotic and, since Genaline and Lady Jennett were allergic to them, they all ended up in Sisi’s room. Sisi liked flowers. Besides, it kept Genaline and her mother from coming into her room and snooping about.

Afternoon calls started at one and the ended at three. That left plenty of time for everyone to get ready for Court, which started at five. During the day the Court was the province of greybeards and serious men, who looked after the well being of the kingdom. At night, the Court was something else altogether, filled with revelry and song. Sisi had visited the Court with her father during the day before. It was quiet and filled with solemn men who talked long and hard about the economy and war. Though Krynia had not been at war for nearly 40 years, these somber men ruminated about possible conflicts with Dyron and Andione. They sometimes seemed disappointed these portentious happenings didn’t come to pass.

The Court at night was quite different. There was dancing and feasting and singing and everywhere was there gaiety and laughter. Except for Sisi, who hid in the corners and watched hungrily from the shadows, her book clutched in her hand as she noted down ideas for a great satire or romantic tragedy. She wasn’t the social butterfly her sister was, she couldn’t giggle and wittily reply to flirtatious comments and barbed insults. She could only think up such retorts after the fact, hours after it was useful and to late to gain a reputation as vivacious. Which was why she liked writing her plays so much. She could make the characters say whatever they wanted, when they wanted. And they were always witty.

The Great Hall Clock struck the quarter hour, and Sisi speeded up. The last thing she needed was a lecture about going out alone, even if it was to such a place as the unfashionable library. She reached the front door just as a coven of her mothers friends arrived. She slipped in behind them and headed up the stairs to change her dress as they were being announced.

She changed into a plain green dress that she could don without Elizka’s help and then headed down stairs.

“Sisi, so glad you could join us,” said her mother, with a sarcastic glint in her eye.

“Mama,” Sisi curtsyed, “I’m sorry for being late, I got engrossed in a book at the library and quite lost all knowledge of time.”

With a knowing sigh, Lady Jenett nodded and waved her away to her usual seat, turning back to the conversation with her coterie. Then she turned.

“Oh, Sisi, before I forget, you have a posie of flowers. They were left by a rather anxious suiter, who was quite devestated you weren’t here to greet him,”

“Mama?”

“Your sister knows which one is yours, they all look alike to me.” And with that Jenett turned back to her friends for the final time. Sisi knew she’d get no more out of her mother, who hated being interrupted during anything, let alone her favoured pastime of gossiping.

Sisi headed over to the window, where her sister held court and waited while some young puppy finished his poem to Genaline’s ‘radient countenance’.

They should see her when she first wakes up, thought Sisi. Genaline was distinctly unangelic when first woken. She slept like the dead and spent her first few hours awake in a similar state. Her red hair was wild and unmanagable and took almost an hour to tame. Genaline also snored. Sisi couldn’t gloat to much about that, however. She frequently spoke in her sleep.

“Genaline, Mama said there was a posie for me?” Sisi asked, at the first available interval.

“Oh yes, it’s the red tulips,” said Genaline, smiling at her sister. “You know what that means, don’t you? Undying love!” She clasped her hands together straight out in front of her and sighed dramatically, then fluttered her eyelashes at her current favourite suitor. “Isn’t it romantic? Someone loves my sister!”

Sisi laughed as all the males in the room nodded and agreed that it was indeed wonderful, though not quite as wonderful as Genaline’s sisterly devotion, as one young blade was quick to point out. Sisi next headed over to the long table by the wall, that was supported by long spindly legs that looked to delicate to support such a profusion of flowers. She quickly found her tulips, as Genaline has recently declared her favourite flower to be delphiniums and the Idals now found themselves unundated with them. Sisi was eaten up with curiousity as to who might have sent her the flowers, as she rarely spoke to people and it was an even rarer occurance for her to speak to a man.

She quickly flipped over the card that was attached to them and sighed. Lord Ferous, she might have known. A pity the man was so repulsive to her, the flowers were lovely. She put them down, with a slump of her shoulders.

“You might give him a chance, you know.” siad her mother, from behind her. She’d crept up without Sisi even noticing.

“Mama?”

“Lord Ferous. He might be an altogether different person from what you think once you get to know him. He comes from a very good family after all. I believe his mother was a Darnell.”

“I once saw him kick a dog,” replied Sisi.

“That was not well done of him, I’ll admit, but he is a gentleman. I’m sure he had his reasons,”

“’A man is judged by his actions towards his inferiors’”

“Oh, don’t quote me you dusty old playwrights. Give him a chance. You know we won’t force you to marry the man but at least give him the opportunity to put forth his case.” She sneezed as the flowers began to affect her.

“Mama-”

“Just give him a chance,” Lady Jenett said, with iron determination that brooked no arguement, before heading back to her cronies.

Sisi sat by the flower table and thought about what her mother had said. Sisi had never felt the tiniest spark of attraction to Lord Ferous. In fact, the man repulsed her, physically. She couldn’t imagine kissing him or allowing him the liberties of a husband. But more than that, the man seemed cruel and autocratic. He always spoke to servants in such a way that left you with no doubt that he considered them idiotic, lesser beings, that he was better than them in every way, purely by virtue of his being nobly born. Could this be just a misunderstanding on her part? Was she being too sensitive? Perhaps he was just like all nobles, a little careless and thoughtless but good hearted and her physical reaction to him had soured her perception? Perhaps she ought to do as her mother commanded and give him a chance.