Would the Universe Unravel
by Madeline Vickers
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Table of Contents parts 1, 2, 3 |
part 2
An hour later, with a rose day dress and pale-yellow slippers, baubles in her hair and gloss on her eyelids, she made her way from her room to the receiving room. The walls of the Sun House were adorned with mirrors and glass of different geometric shapes, so that when the Sun shown through large windows in the walls or ceiling, it refracted and reflected and sent bubbles of light bouncing.
Portraits and landscapes of the family estates filled the rest of the empty space. Warm tones painted the rooms and carpets and furniture and outside walls. The rest of the city took cool tones, mostly blues, as their wall and roof paint, for banners and curtains. The Tethered City was the blue sky to their Sun, the moon reflecting the light.
“Sōley,” she greeted her mother as she walked into the receiving room. Winifred had settled on one end of a couch, a pile of papers and parchments spread on the coffee table around her. In the corner nearest the other side was a plate of eggs and a cup of tea, presumably for Sōley.
“Winifred. Eat,” her mother spoke firmly, gesturing toward the eggs with her pen. A quick peek revealed those were papers of the state. The Solons of the Agoral Palace, the three rulers of the Tethered City and its allegiant provinces, demanded evidence and documentation of Sōley’s courtship attempts.
Sōley sat, looking over the stacks of paper. “How many people are coming today?” she asked, meek. She shouldn’t have spoken in the first place, the words sending a twitch through Winifred’s shoulders and face. “It’s a lot of work. Thank you, mother.” Sōley corrected hastily, planting another flaccid smile on her face. Winifred shot her a warning look but did not scold her.
“You’re welcome,” the woman sighed, scratching her signature on one paper and reaching for another. If she noticed Sōley’s hair, she made no acknowledgement.
Sōley ate mechanically, washing down the now cold eggs with strong tea. It hit her tongue heavily and filled her nose thick with the scent of rose and tea leaves and honey. Panya, one of the maidservants, knew she liked it this way. A rivulet of gratitude sprung, and with another sip swelled, finally breaking a dam of defensive apathy in her. Sōley bent over the teacup slightly, her chest building with pressure.
A kind gesture. With a few more sips, she felt like she might be able to handle this day, at least.
Mahoma was absent from the meetings. Winifred stayed on the other side of the couch, while suitor after suitor cycled through the room. Men and women alike were considered. Sōley smiled through it all, painfully so, carefully so. When it was over, finally, she fell back against the couch cushion.
“Well? We must reschedule at least seven of them... No. Ten. Pick Ten to return,” Winifred decided, looking expectantly at Sōley. Bile prickled at the curve of her throat.
She could see in each suitor, there was no interest in her. They all must have recognized something wrong in her, because conversation was directed to Winifred and not Sōley. None of them would ever love her.
Her face was wrong. Her body was not tight and shapely. Her interests have all abandoned her, and she had no friends. Why fight a losing battle?
The side door opened. A short, round-faced woman stepped into the room. She curtsied before she approached, pouring Sōley a new cup of tea and placing a pastry on her plate.
“You must keep up your strength, miss,” Panya said kindly, with a soft voice and sweet timbre. Sōley watched her go, eyes fixated on the straight black strands of hair that wisped around her face and neck. Her hair was shorter than Sōley’s, with wispy strands and curls. Sōley stared at the door long after it had shut and Panya had walked away. Winifred continued to speak to her, and Sōley answered with a yes or no randomly to those she chose to return.
It didn’t matter who she picked, she knew. She wasn’t capable of love, not like that, not the way the Sun needed. Even as she thought nervously of Panya’s face, her kind gestures, she knew it wasn’t true. Sōley didn’t have any confidence that she could give what a person deserved, in love. She thought that was evidence enough that she couldn’t.
“Your father saw all the suitors out,” Winifred informed her. “He will look over this and be sure he approves of your choices. We may add a few more, if we think they may have potential you didn’t notice.” Her mother spoke with a certain weighted tone, letting on that she knew how noncommittal Sōley was. She turned back and nodded, agreeing as respectfully as she was able.
When Sōley retired later that night, though, she continued to braid her cut hair. A desperate measure was better than none. As her fingers worked, she sighed and thought of Panya’s freckled face, her smooth brown skin. She didn’t hold her mind back from lingering on the shape of her hips, and the pink dress she’d worn that complimented her green eyes. Sōley thought back to the outfits Panya typically wore, wondering if pink was her favorite color. There were pink roses in the garden. No one would notice if one was clipped and left at the maidservant’s door.
Sōley paused her braiding and twisting. Her face felt warm. Sure, she had cared for Panya since they met. But... it wasn’t possible.
A desperate measure is better than none, she thought. Maybe that is true. It took her three days to work up the courage.
Three days of suitor meetings and dismissals. Three days of looking back on every interaction she and Panya had shared. Three days of wrestling with years of pining, ever since Panya had started work there when they were both teenagers. At twenty-six, Panya was a year older than she. Those three days were some of the longest Sōley could remember, except for the days when she waited for Charity to get better and for the days afterwards, when she hadn’t. On the fourth day, Sōley went to the garden, harvested a blush pink rose, and left it at Panya’s door.
She plucked at her nails until the Sun went down, chewing her gums and pinching her lips. The next morning, Panya wore the rose on her lapel. Sōley breathed out when she saw it. A smile, something honest, skittish and transient, fell onto her face. She hopped on her toes for a moment, in private. The next day, Sōley wore a length of pink ribbon clipped in her short hair, and called for Panya to bring her tea in the study.
The woman brought it in minutes, setting a tray of cookies and fruit down with it. Sōley paused her pretend reading of a random book she’d snatched from the shelves. She watched as Panya poured the tea, a sudden shock of nerves speeding up her heart.
“Rose petals and tea leaves, made strong, miss. As you like it,” Panya said. She stood straight, smiling down at Sōley. “Is there anything else?” she asked, tilting her head just so.
Sōley blinked. She forced her fingers to cease their fidgeting and still. “Will you... share it with me?” Sōley asked, stiffly. “I lack for company.”
Panya’s smile widened. “I imagine you’ve had quite a lot, entertaining all those suitors,” she countered, humor sweet in her voice. Sōley smiled, relaxing just a little. “Wait a moment, I’ll snag another cup.”
When Panya returned, she poured herself a cup and blew on it. Sōley watched her, amazed at how at ease and confident she seemed, being soft-spoken and humble at the same time. Sōley took her tea and sipped it, observing the systematic dunk of a cookie, tap, and munch that Panya performed.
“This is delicious. The cooks outdo themselves,” Panya murmured, filling the silence. Sōley nodded, taking a cookie herself and shoving it whole in her mouth. She cringed inward, thinking of how she must look chewing it all. She searched for something to say.
“I like your hair,” Sōley finally mumbled, wiping crumbs from her mouth with the back of her hand. Panya beamed, reaching up to her hair to touch it.
“Thank you! And I, yours,” Panya returned.
Sōley smiled, ducking her head.
Her heart made deliberate attempts to escape her chest.
Now was the time, wasn’t it? Sōley didn’t want to delay. She had to ensure that the Sun Bond would be passed down to her. Then she could get a donor, have kids, and ensure it was passed to them. The Amallisols would grow again, the last of the elder family lines.
Sōley set her cup down and brushed her fingers off.
“Panya, I love you. Will you carry the Sun Bond with me?” Sōley asked, blurting the words out. Panya’s eyes went wide. She set her own cup down, mouth falling open.
“Sōley...” she murmured, “I have a wife.” Panya told her, slow and steeped in pity.
Sōley’s face exploded with heat. She stood up quickly, bumping the desk and rattling the tea set. Blurting out an unsteady apology, Sōley backed up and fled the study. Panya called after her, shock still laced in her tone. Sōley ran into her room, eyes blurring with hot tears, and fell to a seat beside her chest. She shoved it open and snatched the hair out, halfway twisted into a rope. Sōley sniffed and scrubbed away tears, picking up the braid where she’d left off.
The door creaked open. Sōley didn’t look. Soft footsteps approached, and her shoulders rose and pinched inward.
“Sōley?” Panya’s voice was drawn, no less gentle than it had been all they’d known each other. “What are you making?” she asked.
Sōley almost bit out a reprimand for the woman entering her room without permission. It seemed like the spiteful thing one would do, after being rejected, however reasonably. She didn’t. Instead, Sōley looked up at the woman and held the hair into the light.
“You can’t tell anyone,” Sōley whispered, her voice a little hoarse from tears. Panya seemed to pretend not to notice.
“I won’t,” the woman promised. She kneeled beside her. “What is it for? You don’t mean to...” Sōley thought she knew what the other woman was referring to. She shook her head.
“No. I was hoping...I won’t be able to bind the Sun with a love bond. I can... I can feel it. There’s something broken inside me. I’m not capable of love, not really,” Sōley confessed, a weight evaporating off her chest. “The first community made the ritual of the Sun Bond. If they made a ritual, why can’t I? Maybe hair could... maybe a rope made out of a piece of this family could tether the Sun,” Sōley explained, sounding lame even to herself. Panya only hummed, reaching a hand out to brush her fingers over the twisted strands.
“I think... broken is a harsh word to refer to yourself with. You seem plenty capable,” Panya said. She pressed a smile out to Sōley. “Maybe we can be friends, from now on?” the woman offered.
Sōley almost smiled, something bitter and hurt. “A generous offer. Maybe... maybe sometime,” Sōley agreed.
Panya left her then. Sōley continued her work all through the night. She finished just before the Sun came up. Sōley had barely hidden it back in the chest when the door to her room opened.
Winifred walked in. Sōley stood, caught without an excuse or the energy to summon one.
“Come. Your father has fallen ill,” the woman spoke.
No. “The plague of flight?” Sōley asked.
Winifred pinched her lips. “It’s not known.”
But if it is... “Where... What happens?” Sōley’s voice shook.
“We cleanse ourselves; the servants cleanse the estate. Then you find a lover.”
It sounds so simple. “Father will get better,” Sōley said in response.
Winifred looked the picture of apathy on the outside. Poised and resolute. But she loved Mahoma. “We must prepare in case he does not,” the woman decided.
The city was in unrest, a member of the Sun Bond taking to the sick bed.
“It is not the Plague of Flight. I am sure of it.” The Amallisol’s physician assured them, the man’s grey hair poking out of a round hat. He nodded his head like it was certain. For the first couple of days, it seemed true. But days turned into weeks. All those people they let in to meet her, for the courtship. One of them must have brought in the Plague of Flight.
The Sun House was evacuated, the workers and residents going into quarantine. Winifred and Sōley were the only to stay, taking care of themselves with food and milk delivered.
Sōley avoided her mother as much as she could. Her stomach twisted with guilt, and she sat in the corner of her room for most of the days, hiding from the Sun. It hurt too much to know that Winifred’s fears must be split in two directions: one for her husband, and one for her daughter.
After the third week, they received the news that Mahoma’s condition had declined. Sōley sat up that night, biting her nails and chewing the skin off her lips. Winifred insisted she maintain communication by letter with her favored suitors. Sōley did so obediently, but without passion or intrigue.
Her room had become a cocoon of self-pity and depression. “I wish the Sun would smite me,” Sōley muttered, running her raw fingers over her legs. “I’m a horrible person.” She believed it was true.
As long as she stayed in this room, the city outside didn’t exist. The Sun didn’t exist.
Copyright © 2023 by Madeline Vickers
