Chapter Six: Learning to Leave

By the age of fifteen, Leonah spoke six dialects fluently and belonged fully to none of them. Every hour of Lenoah’s days prepared her for somewhere she had never seen. Her days were spent learning how to live in some place that was not her own, with some free time dabbed in from time to time. 

Leonah’s mornings belonged to other kingdoms. The first day of the week was her dance instructions, or that's what she liked to call them, though there was much more to it than learning how to dance. She entered the ballroom where servants prepared whatever lessons Leonah would be given under the watchful eye of the Royal Mistress of Diplomatic Arts, Madame Severine Valcor. Though it was rare for Leonah to not have the perfected poise, she was much more aware of it when the elegant middle aged woman was in the vicinity. 

“Leonah! Come!” her piercing voice rang through the large room and Leonah made haste, though not too much haste, to her tutor in the middle of the room. She stood tall and confident while Madame Valcor looked her over from top to bottom. There were days in the beginning of her studies that Madame Valcor would point out every single flaw Leonah had on her body and send her back to her room to get dressed over and over again. The record of being sent back to try again with her wardrobe had been twenty-six when she was twelve and she went to bed hungry that night after she broke down in front of her tutor in frustration when she pointed out that one earring was clasped too loose compared to the other. 

Even though that was years ago, it was still one of the most nerve-wracking moments of her day to day life. On occasion she would be sent back, but there were more days than most that if Madame Valcor found something she could comment on, Leonah could give her an explanation that would suffice. 

Today, Madame Valcor kneeled to adjust Leonah’s gown and her fingers paused. She took hold of the hem of her dress. “Did you request this alteration?” she asked. 

“No.” Leonah said quickly, knowing the gown was two inches shorter than what was expected in court. As Severine had told her previously ‘A princess of Korvethis may drag silk behind her, but a foreign bride may not always be afforded such safetly.’ And she used this as an advantage. “Though I suppose I prefer it.” 

Madame Valcor let go of the hem and stood, a hard look on her face. Leonah kept her confidence and no more was spoken of it. 

The lesson commenced. Servants played the roles of royal atendees addressing her in different style courts. She was critiqued on her spacing, her submission, her etiquette. 

“Lower your eyes to their feet, not the ground.” Severine ordered. “You touched their hand two seconds longer than is appropriate. Remember the people of Elaris find it offensive if your right foot is placed in front of the left, but the people of Serevain see the left in front of the right as a sign of fidelity.” 

Leonah would never say the lessons were easy, but there was very little that her tutor could tell her now that she didn’t already know. After hours of rigorous scenarios, some very normal, some not so normal, she was excused for the day to change into her afternoon gowns and then was guided to her and her siblings’ study for independent studies. Most of the time she thought of this was a time where all servants agreed to send their responsibilities away so that they could take a break, but she didn’t mind. She would bring along some travel writings or foreign myths of long texts that Madame Valcor had let her borrow and enjoy not being scrutinized. It was also the only time that she really got to see her siblings out of the spotlights they were under. These moments had gotten less and less as they aged, she wondered if anyone else grieved as much as her that these days were running out. 

The study was one of her favorite places visually. There were long tables in the center of the room that the sunlight hit through tall windows. There were board games out such as chess and backgammon that were paused, maps were spread out around tables and the bookshelves reached the ceiling. There was a pile of abandoned embroidery and daggers left where they shouldn’t be. All of it was evidence of she and her siblings occupying that room for years. The tutors called it “independent study” but in reality it was where the heirs could become themselves. 

Orther lounged upside down across one of the velvet chairs, boots dangling over the armrest as he flicked grapes toward Cedoric’s forehead with varying degrees of success. 

“Hold still,” he complained as another grape bounced harmlessly off the boy’s ear. “You move too much.” 

“I am trying not to be assaulted.” Cedoric snapped.

“You’d die first in a war.” Orther said plainly. 

“I’m twelve.” 

“Exactly. Prime dying age.” Orther smiled and winked at his brother before tossing another grape into the air.

Without looking up from her book, Leonah lifted a hand neatly into the air. The next grape landed directly in her palm. 

Orther blinked at her upside down. “Well that was irritatingly impressive.” 

Leonah popped the grape into her mouth and turned the page of her language book. 

Rylla burst into Leonah’s side of the room without warning, already halfway through speaking to her. “Elmara says my flower crown looks desperate.” 

“It does!” Elmara replied from across the chamber without glancing up from her embroidery. Rylla gasped in betrayal. 

Leonah looked over the top of her book. The crown on her little sister’s head was woven with crimson ivy and pale mourning blossoms. 

“...Where did you get those?” Leonah asked. 

“The south gardens.” Rylla said, instinctively putting a hand on it, as if she was in trouble. 

Leonah set her book aside and gently adjusted one of the stems. “In Valedour, red ivy given during festivals implies your pursuing someone already promised to another.” 

Rylla stared. 

Leonah finally looked down at her sister after balancing the flowers enough on the crown to look better. 

“You must be joking.” Rylla begged. Leonah shook her head. Rylla immediately ripped the crown off her head. “Oh that is horrifying.” 

Orther nearly fell out of his chair laughing. 

Nokon sat cross-legged near the window carving absentmindedly into a small piece of wood, his black curls falling into his face as the voices rose and fell around him. 

Eventually, Leonah noticed what he was doing and walked over to him while hugging her book in her arms. “You’re making the antlers too narrow.” 

Nokon paused mid-carve. “You can tell what it is already?” 

“It’s an eastern ridge stag.” 

Nokon stared at her in silence for a few seconds before looking back at his carving. “Most people think they’re horses at first.”

Leonah shrugged lightly. “The shoulder structure is wrong for a horse.” 

Nokon stared at her another second before quietly handing her the carving knife handle first. Leonah took it and the block of wood confidently. Without hesitation she adjusted the angle of the antler, shaving one of the sides smoother before returning it. After seeing the approval of her older brother she left without another word. She knew he didn’t like small talk, and she was good at meeting people where they were. 

Elora sat near the eastern windows with a book unopened in her lap, her gaze drifted more often toward the room itself than the pages. Rylla had climbed halfway across Walric’s chair. Orther began arguing loudly with Cedoric over battle formations his little brother invented. Wrena was reorganizing invitations with visible irritation. Everyone moved around each other easily, except Elora. She still paused before speaking sometimes, as though waiting to see whether she still belonged in the conversation. Leonah noticed though, because she did the same thing in unfamiliar rooms. 

Walric sat near the fire with a map stretched across his knee, one boot propped against the table leg as Cedoric leaned heavily against his should attempting to follow along. “If the Veyrans push from the north pass,” Walric said, tracing a line with one finger, “they trap the western villages before reinforcements arrive.” 

Orther scoffed. “The Veyrani barely qualify as soldiers.” 

Leonah looked up from her book once again. “They call themselves Veyri.” 

Walric’s eyes flicked toward her immediately. 

Orther groaned dramatically. “Oh forgive me. The poor murderous invaders.” 

Leonah finally closed her book with her feathered bookmark, she knew no reading would happen today. “It matters to them.” 

A brief silence settled over the room. Leonah could feel the coldness of being the only one with a different opinion in the room. Her studies gave her a perspective the rest of her siblings did not have. They all refused to look at her, all except for Elora, who held her gaze. 

Walric glanced back down at the map. “How is it pronounced?” 

“Vay-ree,” Leonah answered softly. 

Walric repeated it correctly the first time. Leonah noticed, and appreciated her eldest brother for taking her seriously, but she still left the study, not feeling safe in their space any longer that day. 

The second day of instruction Madame Valcor came to her room with servants carrying multiple boxes of fabric. There was only the slightest check of what Leonah had dressed herself in before she was rushed away to strip down and wrapped back up. 

Veils were some of Leonah’s favorite exotic attire. They were so versatile, so many different colors and different meanings. Learning how women survived differently everywhere thrilled her. 

Madame Valcor always started with Valedour clothing. It was a warm, southern kingdom that got an ample amount of sun. The veils were translucent with beads of all shape, size and color on the edges. She was wrapped in a blue veil. “In Valedour your veil symbolized restraint, elegance and emotional discipline. We do not show too much publicly. The more shown, the more immature or , in your case, politically reckless.”

She then was shown ways to wear them and what each meant. A lifted veil during conversation implied trust, a veil pulled tightly across the face and behind the shoulder was a flirtation device. Red veils were for mourning, Green for the spring, Pink for childbearing. 

Madame Valcor took a very different looking veil and wrapped it around her. There were strips of thick gold with small spaces of white sear silk in the middle. She wrapped it around her so that the only thing she could see was below her nose. “These are bride veils for the higher status women. They are made so that their expressions cannot be read during negotiations.” 

Leonah gave one slight nod and appreciated that she didn’t have to worry about what her face looked like to her tutor. 

Madame Valcor brought out veils from Sah’ir made of layered cloth to help with the brutal heat of the desert empire; she learned how showing a face, no matter the gender, was enormously meaningful there. In the northern country of Ilyr, the veils were made of wool over the hair and throat. They covered the cheeks and women who were married braided silver thread into the wool. 

The humid river civilization of Narethi wore long gauzy veils with elaborate crowns that separated to show the eyes. The veils here were worn to symbolize separation between mortals and the divine; they were mostly worn during diplomacy and rituals. Veyr had the most interesting veils for Leonah. A country with the climate for harsh northern forests and frozen coastlines had fur-lined half veils with leather face wraps and ceremonial bone-beaded coverings. They were meant to hide emotion during negotiations. Brides wore red battle veils before marriage oaths, they were taken off to meet grief openly during funerals, mothers veiled their newborns to hide them from spirits. 

At the end of the lesson Leonah’s hair was a lot less put together than when she began, so Madame Valcor kept two servants behind to help her fix her hair for supper before she left. As she sat there, getting her hair braided in a way Leonah had liked from Valedour, her door swung open and Rylla ran in. 

“Leonah, Elmara says I cannot keep a fox in my room because it smells like death.” 

Leonah looked up at her from her seat slowly as to not ruin the intricate braid the servants were almost finished with. “...Does it?” 

Rylla considered this seriously. “A little…” As she tipped her head up in thought her attention was caught on the design of her sister’s room. So elegant and precise in its trim. Rylla found herself walking further into the room and looking at how clean her sister’s room was, a far contrast with hers. She stopped beside the long shelf beneath the window. “That’s strange.” 

“What is?” Leonah glanced at her from the mirror. 

“You have empty shelves.” 

Leonah left her sister’s gaze in the mirror and looked at the shelf. She felt her head tilt, rather puzzled herself. “I suppose I do.” 

Rylla frowned deeper. “How?”

“I suppose…I do not have a need to fill my room with material things.” Leonah said, raising her chin higher, remembering the servants holding onto her hair. 

Rylla walked closer to the bed and looked at the side table. Laying there was a silver comb, the handle curved to look like a flowing ribbon. Rylla picked it up and turned it over in her hands, admitting the tiny pearl flowers worked into the metal. “This one’s lovely.” 

“You can have it.” 

The words came so quickly Rylla blinked. “What?” 

“You like it more than I do.” 

Rylla stared another second before narrowing her eyes suspiciously. “You always say that.” 

Leonah smiled faintly. “Because it’s usually true.” 

Rylla walked closer to her sister, still holding the comb, already claiming it. “If you give away all your things, it’ll be like you don’t live here anymore.” 

The servants dropped her hair and bowed silently before they both walked out. Leonah looked around at her room, really looked and she was surprised to realize, Rylla had a point. There was very little in the room that she would claim to be hers. She didn’t really have anything to say, so she sat quiet. 

“Well,” Rylla announced shoving the comb into Leonah’s chest. “Thats dreadful. I’m bringing you things.” 

Leonah laughed softly despite herself, looking down at the comb. “Please don’t.” 

“I’m absolutely going to.” 

“I do not need more things.” Leonah begged. 

“That is exactly what someone with empty shelves would say.” Rylla had already made it out of the room, stuck her tongue out at her and ran off. Leonah felt herself shaking her head and laughing. She wondered if there were people like Rylla in the other countries out there. Maybe it wouldn’t be as terrifying as it felt if that were true. 

On the third day of lessons Madame Valcor took Leonah out to the royal gardens by herself. In the years she had Severine as a tutor, she could tell when the woman needed time away from the castle and the people who embodied it. She always wondered if she ever grew tired of Leonah. For years now each week she would shove as much information about the outside world into her brain and then the other three days were for royal requirements that were demanded of a princess. Perhaps those three days were enough to make her not completely annoyed at her student. 

The castle was very active as it usually became on the third or fourth day, depending on who was coming to visit during those days. As they walked out of the castle the tall windows were being opened and the curtains were drawn. Leonah enjoyed the castle feeling alive, but she was also hyper aware of the dangers of hosting foreign diplomats. 

As they walked past a hedge that had just been manicured Madame Severine lifted one branch full of silver thorns between gloved fingers. “In Korvethis, this is decorative,” she said, pulling it out of the bush. “Your country has mastered the subtle threat of war in everything they decorate.” She walked a little farther on to a bed of lilies and picked one. She placed these two together and gave it to Leonah. “In Valedour, it is an accusation.” 

Do you know who?” 

“A wife.” Leonah started adjusting the arrangement instinctively. 

Severine nodded once, approving. “What kind?”

Leonah studied the flowers. “One suspected of infidelity.” 

“Or,” Severine corrected softly, “one the host wishes others to suspect.” 

After a day out in the sun, Leonah was feeling sun soaked as she walked into the study. She held her language book, determined to finish it today when she heard Orther laughing out loud. Walking in Leonah saw Wrena had essentially taken over half the room with invitation drafts, wax seals, ribbons, floral examples and servant notes. “This is ridiculous! How am I supposed to have this ready by the time they get here when everyone keeps touching things? Rylla, give back those ribbons!” 

Leonah had heard Wrena had been placed as the one in charge of the diplomats dinner when they came from Valedour., the sister country of Valecour. She was both annoyed and relieved that she hadn’t been placed in charge. 

“Isn’t the whole point of a dinner to eat? Just make sure the fattest turkey is slaughtered and there is enough oil in the candles.” Orther told her with a chuckle. Wrena looked at him angrily. “This is not a dinner, this is a decorative hostage situation!” 

Leonah tried her best to slip into the room unnoticed, but Wrena saw her as she walked in and called her over. “You studied Valedourian symbolism this morning.” 

Not a question. Leonah took a moment to answer. “Yes.” 

Wrena gestured towards the flowers. “Then fix this before Mother sees it!” 

Leonah gave a subtle sigh as she walked closer to the centerpiece. It was beautiful, red ivy woven through gold roses, white lilies beside silver thorns, winter heather placed upside down. Rylla ran in front of Leonah and looked at the arrangement closely, ribbons wrapped around her neck and blowing in the breeze of her pace. “What’s wrong with it?” 

“The silver thorn.” Leonah commented. 

From the seat Elmara had been sitting in with her embroidery she perked up. “But, it matches the table runner.” 

“In Valedour,” Leonah said carefully, “silver thorn beside mourning lilies implies the bride was unfaithful before marriage.” 

Silence.

“Oh, gross!” Rylla yelled and Orther bellowed a deep guttural laugh. 

“How repulsive.” Elmara held her chest and she got even more pale. 

After Leonah was thanked extensively by Wrena she was left alone for the rest of the afternoon to read her book, though the pitch of Wrena’s panic was hard to suppress. 

As the dinner hour drew near her siblings left one after another to get dressed and go eat, but Leonah lingered. She walked to the arrangement and looked over it. She barely hear Madame Severine walk up behind her.   “You corrected it.” 

“It was wrong.” 

Severine studied her carefully. “Most girls your age would not have noticed.” 

Leonah looked back at her tutor with interest. “I think I was meant to.” 

The fourth day of lessons was always the hardest on Leonah. Instead of moving around she was plastered to a desk, many books around her and one of her many language tutors, Master Azhar Veyn, had been testing her for hours now on minute details in the Sah’iri language, Sahiric. Compared to Korvathi, Sahiric flowed easier, was very layered, poetic and context sensitive. Not only were all the letters different than Korvathi, but it changed depending on rank, grief status, marital status, whether someone was armed or if someone is a host or a guest, and many more situations. 

Master Azhar was Sah’iri, but he was a traveler of the world. Madame Severine appreciated his work whenever she could pull him from one of his travels to teach her. Severine sat in a comfy chair at the edge of the classroom, hands clasped and a leg folded over the other. Awake and aware, but silent. Day four was usually taught by someone she hired, especially when Leonah mastered her own home language, Valedine. 

Azhar finished writing two identical looking phrases on the white board and turned to his student. “Which one is the insult?” 

Leonah fought to bend forward as she studied them, pushing her back against her chair. The phrases looked very similar, but she caught the only difference; a tiny honorific omitted. 

“The second one.” Leonah said confidently.

Azhar nodded once. “Good. The second would have started a trade dispute.” 

Leonah had always been interested in different languages. When she was learning Valedine with her siblings years ago Orther would actually cry with frustration. Walric seemed to be the only one who could keep up with her, but even he would need to stop a lot faster than she would. Every once in a while Leonah wondered if her love of languages was what got her onto the path that was separated from her siblings. 

“I am pleased with your pace in Sahiric, I do say. Whichever court receives you will be fortunate.” Azhar said.

The silence froze the room. Leonah could feel the piercing stare of Madame Severine from behind her. Azhar’s smile swiftly turned to dread.

“Thank you, Master Azhar.” Leonah said without making eye contact. She couldn’t, because if she did she was unsure if she could keep the tears in her eyes. 

She knew this is what her fate might be, but it was the first time spoken aloud.