I should have been delighted. In normal circumstances, I would at least be relieved. I wouldn’t be obliged to attend the most significant event of the season without the favor of a suitor displayed on me.
But there were a few obvious problems with being presented with two bouquets. First, of course, whoever I turned down would be offended.
Second, I honestly didn’t know which boy I preferred.
I tried to swallow my coil of fear — bad things happened when I got nervous — and turned to the first bouquet.
It was from Jontan. His family’s land was right next to ours, and he’d been an easy escort for me for years. The problem was, I didn’t think our relationship was going anywhere. Jontan felt more like a brother than a suitor, and I was weary of pretending we had chemistry that just wasn’t there.
Derrim and I sparkled with chemistry. He made me laugh, and even though he wasn’t handsome, he had incredible charisma. When he took me to events, I lit up with laughter, I had a great time, and I felt giddy as long as we were together.
But there was a problem with Derrim, too. He was rude and caustic, his cutting remarks always hilarious when said in context. But every time I let him escort me someplace, I felt sick the next morning. I liked Derrim, I liked spending time with him, and yet I didn’t like the person he made me.
I stared at the two bouquets disconsolately.
A rustle sounded behind me. I turned to find my mother sweeping down the stairway.
“Why, Raneh!” she cried, plucking up the first of the enormous bouquets. “Two choices! And here you were worried that you might not receive any!”
I gave her a weak smile as she flipped through the flowers expertly.
“Luries,” she said, running her fingers along the broad pink petals. “Thick. And healthy. He has honorable intentions.”
I nodded. Jontan’s intentions were always honorable. That was one of the things I liked about him.
“Affection and fondness,” Mother continued, examining the smooth orange lennies and the delicately scented turquoise adlies. With just a hint of sweetness, those must have been cut just before budding. That required foresight. He must have been planning this for weeks. “And tied together with tiny white speckies. A very harmonious arrangement, Raneh.”
“Jontan’s always are,” I sighed, pointing at the tiny spray of wheatling and adly leaves that was his family’s signature. “But they always have something else, as well.”
Mother frowned and pulled out the biggest of the pale pink luries. There, hidden beneath the rest of the flowers, was the crushed velvety blue-purple he always shoved there.
Mother let out a bark of laughter. “Filias? He really always puts one in there?”
“‘Loyalty to the Rulership,’” I said dryly. “If it were anyone else, I would think he was showing off. But with Jontan, he’s always sincere.”
Mother chuckled. “That’s not a bad trait in a suitor, Raneh.”
“But it’s not flattering, either!” I protested. “Every single bouquet he sends is practically saying he’d put the Rulership first over his family!”
“So? Were you planning to make him choose between them?” Mother teased.
I looked down, not daring to answer that. The truth was, I had reasons for not liking the Rulership, reasons for not wanting to marry somebody who was so blindly faithful to it. In fact, Derrim’s irreverence towards the Ruler had been one of the reasons I’d been attracted to him in the first place.
“Let’s see the other bouquet,” Mother said, setting the first one down. She picked up the second and examined it critically. “I see Derrim’s preference for spectacle hasn’t been dampened since the last invitation he sent.”
This bouquet was a wild mash of clashing colors that seemed entirely haphazard. Garishly orange whirlies spun out the sides, purple-green-striped inna leaves jabbed from the middle, and tiny red speckies were strewn in strange places. He’d put his family’s signature of laceleafs right where it was supposed to be, front and center, but it was rendered deliberately ridiculous with a pair of bright orange stokwings perched on top, arranged to look like birds about to eat the laceleaf berries.
Mother caught a whiff of the strong scent of inna and whirlies, and choked. “Would someone teach that boy how to mix perfume properly?”
I giggled. “He always uses flowers that are too strong and should not be mixed together. I think it’s his way of showing off his acerbic taste.”
“Or lack of taste whatsoever,” Mother shuddered. She tossed the bouquet back onto the main hallway’s receiving table. “Tell me, does he actually show up smelling like this?”
“No, no.” I couldn’t stop giggling. “He rarely wears scent at all, actually.”
“Well, that’s something.” Mother eyed me critically. “So? Which boy are you planning to go with?”
I hesitated. “Well, in some ways Derrim is a lot better than Jontan. He’s so interesting.”
Mother glanced at the so-safe-that-it-could-have-been-taken-straight-out-of-a-textbook-and-probably-had-been bouquet. “I understand. Jontan does lack creativity.”
“Or ability to gain status,” I admitted, brutally. “He rarely loses any, which is more than I can say for Derrim, but he rarely earns anything, either. He’s just . . . invisible. I’m not saying that I’m wildly ambitious, but . . .”
“But one can’t spend status that isn’t there,” Mother nodded. “One wants to have some revenue that’s more than the crops bring in.”
“If one wants to stay a landowner, anyway,” I said glumly. “And I don’t want to be a vassal, Mother!”
“Well, of course not. Nobody does.”
Grandmother and Grandfather don’t mind, I thought. But their situation was different. They worked for us; they didn’t have to live with some landowner family that didn’t love them.
“You could always be ours,” Mother said gently, as if reading my mind. “But I’m guessing you would rather have your own land.”
I nodded emphatically. Being vassal to my parents would be almost as intolerable as being a vassal to anyone else. True, I would take my share of my family’s status with me when I married. True, they could gift me with any more they wanted me to receive. But my parents had three children to worry about, and one would be in much more dire need of status than me.
“Here.” Mother plopped the second bouquet in my arms. “Go with Derrim. He sounds like the better possibility.”
I nodded, breathing deeply. Then I choked and gagged at Derrim’s bouquet’s perfume. It was much worse than usual.
Who combines spicy with acrid on purpose? I thought indignantly. Derrim, what were you thinking?