The Captive Maiden

Evfemia’s new dress was a gaudy gold, embroidered with a pattern of large red leaves. The bodice and hem were trimmed with ermine. All three of them had matching headdresses in the popular two-horned style, with flowing headrails hanging down around the sides and back to disguise the limpness of their dull brown hair. A jeweled pin adorned the front.

 

Gisela planned to wear her mother’s wedding dress, which she had kept carefully packed away in a trunk in her attic chamber, hidden in the corner. The dress was a lovely sapphire blue. Though plain compared with the current fashion, Gisela knew the color made her eyes look even bluer, and was a good match for her skin color and blonde hair.

 

“Look after the horses while we’re gone — not that you would forget your darlings.” Evfemia rolled her eyes.

 

“Yes, my lady.” Gisela tried to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. She would pretend submission, pretend she wasn’t planning to do anything that day except what her stepmother told her to do, and accept the consequences later if she was caught.

 

“Irma! Contzel!” Evfemia called out in her imperiously shrill voice.

 

“We’re right here, Mother. You don’t have to shout.”

 

Evfemia gave Irma a withering look. “It is time to leave.”

 

“You’re stepping on my hem!” Contzel elbowed her sister.

 

“If your hem wasn’t as big as a tent, I might not step on it. You’re too slow!”

 

“Stop pushing me! Ow!”

 

A scuffling noise, then screams, but Gisela didn’t turn to look. She hoped they would hurry on out the door so she could go get ready.

 

“Stop that!” Evfemia screamed. “Stop this moment! If you make a mess of your headdresses, I will —”

 

The two sisters stopped squealing, and the only sound was the swishing of their many layers of clothing and the scuff of their slippers on the floor.

 

Gisela glanced up as they reached the door. Her stepmother stood staring coldly at her. Irma and Contzel stopped and followed suit.

 

“Gisela,” Evfemia began in her calmest voice, “if you get anywhere near the tournament lists, I shall sell every horse. Every. Single. One. Do you understand?”

 

“Yes, my lady.” Gisela gave her an equally cold stare.

 

“Good.” She turned and swept out the door, holding up the hem of her ermine-trimmed cape.

 

Gisela’s teeth began to ache as she realized she’d been clenching her jaw. Evfemia would eventually empty the stables, continuing to sell everything off, whether Gisela obeyed her or not. But her stepmother’s threat still had its desired effect.

 

But with God’s favor, her stepmother might not see her at the lists. They wouldn’t be expecting to see her, after all, especially not wearing her mother’s blue gown. Evfemia did not even know the gown existed.

 

Gisela waited until her stepmother’s carriage had started down the long lane that led away from the house to the main road, where it would no doubt join the crowds on their way to the tournament. She threw her cloth in the bucket of water and ran up the stairs. Quickly, she took off her ragged work clothes, pulled on a clean white chemise, and dressed in her mother’s silk gown, with its long, detached angel sleeves and plain belt.

 

Even though Evfemia had worn an ermine-trimmed cloak, the late spring weather was blessedly too warm to actually need one. It was a good thing, since Gisela didn’t own a decent one.

 

Hurriedly, she brushed out her hair and braided a small section on either side, wrapping the braids around her head and pinning a plain veil to them. She studied her reflection in the cracked, cloudy looking glass. Her hair wasn’t hanging in perfect ringlets like Rainhilda’s would be, but she liked the effect of her long hair flowing over her shoulders and down her back, the contrast of the blonde and the dark blue gown.

 

She ran out and saddled Kaeleb, then mounted sidesaddle. She rode slowly, reining her horse in so he didn’t kick up mud onto her skirt or make a mess of her hair as she traveled to her neighbor, Ava von Setenstete’s house. Ava had insisted she let her take her to the tournament. “That old Evfemia”—Ava had wrinkled up her nose with distaste at the woman’s name—”will find an excuse not to let you go. Promise me you will come here and let me take you in my carriage.” But that had been two months ago, when they’d first heard about the tournament. Now Ava was heavy with child and probably wouldn’t be able to go.

 

Ava’s husband was a wool merchant who was often away from home for months at a time, which had led to Gisela visiting as often as possible to keep her friend company. Gisela arrived at the impressive house, which, as a wealthy merchant, von Setenstete was well able to afford. It was even larger and grander than Gisela’s stone and half-timber home.

 

Gisela knocked at the door. A servant let her in and led her to Ava’s chamber.

 

“I’m so sorry to disturb you.” Gisela saw that Ava was still in bed.

 

“Nonsense. You are not disturbing me. I should get up. It’s just easier to lie here.” Ava laughed — a delicate sound, like little bells. She pulled herself into a sitting position, her large, pregnant belly protruding under the bedclothes.

 

“Are you not coming to the tournament?”

 

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