Elphaba woke up slowly, which was very unusual for her. A moment after she realised she was, more or less, awake a headache of epic proportions and an unpleasant churning in her stomach made themselves known. She fell out of the strange bed and stumbled around the equally strange room until she found the necessary.
Fiyero was woken quite abruptly by the unexpected sound of someone crashing around the room, he relaxed slightly as he vaguely recalled some of the events of the day before and realised it must be Elphaba. At the same time he also realised he had the worst hangover of his life and was about to violently sick.
The pair of them, having emptied their stomachs thoroughly, sat with their eyes closed on the floor of the tiny room and Elphaba roused herself to comment on the situation.
“Is this another one of your Arjiki customs? Getting the bride and groom so blind drunk they don’t remember consummating their marriage and end up forced to spend time together thanks to the after-effects of the wine?”
“If it is,” replied Fiyero, stifling a groan at the ache in his skull. “They invented it especially to torture us because I’d never heard of such a thing.”
“Well it makes me feel ever so slightly better to know that you weren’t in on this plan.”
“I expect it was my father’s idea and as soon as I can open my eyes without wanting to kill myself I shall have some very strong words with him about it. Naturally he’ll be completely unrepentant and tell me he was doing it for my benefit but it’ll make me feel better.”
“What happened to us having to spend the week alone together?”
“Another one of our ridiculously antiquated customs,” snorted Fiyero. “I’m allowed to have contact with other people but you aren’t.”
“The Gillikinese and Munchkins have a similar custom in which the newlywed couple go away together for a space of time,” noted Elphaba. “Except they’re allowed to speak to other people. I don’t particularly like people so it doesn’t bother me to stay up here for as long as I can, as long as no one expects me to drink wine ever again because I swear I will not!”
“I feel the same way myself,” agreed Fiyero, shaking his head briefly. “I can’t believe my own father would do this to me, especially after I told him…”
“After you told him…?” prompted Elphaba when Fiyero fell silent for an uncomfortable amount of time.
“That I didn’t intend to… well…”
“Are you blushing?” asked Elphaba incredulously, as she opened her eyes slightly to see why he was having so much trouble speaking.
“As a matter of fact I am,” replied Fiyero irritably. “I’m not exactly accustomed to discussing things like this with young women!”
“Things like what?” prompted Elphaba.
“Like…what happened last night…I was going to wait until we got to know each other.”
“Oh,” she said, a drawn out syllable full of understanding. “I suppose after he met me he decided you’d never want to… know me… that well. It’s a reasonable assumption.”
“It wasn’t his assumption, or his decision, to make.”
“From what I’ve heard, mostly from my nanny who is an embarrassingly frank sort, it’s probably a good thing I don’t remember anything after the dancing – she made a particular point of warning me that… it hurts… the first time.”
At that awkward statement Fiyero’s eyes flew open and he stared at the young woman sitting across from him with her hair loose over her body and her eyes closed.
“You’ve gone all quiet,” she noted. “Embarrassed again? I’m sorry, I’m not sure how much we’re supposed to talk about such intimate things.”
“It’s not that,” he assured her quickly and debated with himself for a moment before inching a little closer. “It’s just that my father rather strongly implied that I shouldn’t expect you to be… this to be your… damn but this is difficult!”
“I understand what you’re saying. Your father told you it wouldn’t be my first time, didn’t he? And I know exactly who he got that impression from!”
“I’m sorry,” he told her sincerely.
“It’s not your fault,” she told him, equally sincerely. “My grandfather has persisted in believing that growing up in Quadling country made me ‘precocious’ despite all protests and proof to the contrary.”
“This is not the start to marriage that either of us wanted, I’m sure,” he continued.
“What, sitting together naked in a bathroom after spending half an hour throwing up everything we don’t remember eating last night?” she replied. “It certainly is… unique as far as marital bonding experiences go I’m sure.”
“Was that a joke?”
“Don’t be absurd, surely you’ve seen by now I have no sense of humour whatsoever.”
“Oh no sense of humour at all,” he pretended to agree. “I’m sure this situation is ridiculous enough for even someone without a sense of humour to see the absurdity of it all.”
“Now that we’ve sorted that out is there any possible way we could convince someone to give us medicine for the vile headaches I’m sure we both have?”
“I think I can walk now,” agreed Fiyero, standing up cautiously and holding his hand out to assist her, if she needed help. “I’ll get dressed and find some servants.”
“Thank you,” she said, taking his hand and standing up without showing as much self-consciousness as she felt – at least not until she realised he was staring at her then she defiantly crossed her arms across her chest and glared at him. “What?”
“I… nothing…”
“Perhaps you’re amazed you could be drunk enough to bed me?” she suggested sarcastically.
“You could sharpen knives on that tongue!” he retorted, angry at her for making such an assumption and himself for not being able to communicate properly with her.
“So I’m frequently informed. Is that the best insult you can manage? No, it couldn’t be, I’m sure you can do better!”
Taking a deep breath to calm his temper down, and remind himself that she was probably at least as scared and upset as he was, Fiyero took a tentative step towards her and put his hands gently on her shoulders forcing her to look at him.
“I’m not trying to hurt you, Elphaba, I promise I don’t want to – I just have trouble saying the right thing and I don’t always think about how my actions might look to someone else.”
“Oh?”
Fiyero had to marvel at the way she could make a simple sound have such a wealth of meaning, this time it was clearly a combination of disbelief and a challenge to prove her wrong.
“I was just thinking about how different you look, compared to yesterday, wondering how you got that scar I see on your leg and wishing I could remember what last night was like so I’d know I didn’t hurt you anymore than was inevitable.”
She stared at him without blinking as he spoke and didn’t reply at all so he let go of her and went to find some clean clothes, trying to avoid looking at the telltale bloodstain on the bed sheets as he did so. Halfway through rummaging in the cupboard he felt a light touch on his bare shoulder.
“A soldier, in Quadling country, put a spear into my leg. He was delirious with one of the dozens of fevers foreigners catch down there. I probably would have bled to death but the nearest healer was someone who knew about my allergy to water and used it to cauterise the wound. Even so it became infected and I was delirious for weeks afterwards but I didn’t die, which I suppose was a good thing. At least I saved my sister from having to be horrified at the idea of marrying a heathen.”
“A heathen am I?” he asked her lightly, silently slightly horrified that she could speak so matter of factly about what must have been an excruciating experience – his mother had warned him about her allergy, as she called it, before the wedding with a quiet remark about his father not thinking such ‘minor details’ were important.
“It doesn’t particularly bother me, I’m an atheist myself, but Nessarose is a very devout Unionist – you’d be thrilled to leave her here for six or seven months of the year.”
“What about you?” he wondered, holding clean clothes in his hands but not completely certain of the protocols involved in getting dressed when one’s wife was still naked. “How do you feel about staying here in spring and summer?”
“I was not aware that I had a choice. Your father… well I am sure you can imagine how he put it.”
“I don’t see why not,” he told her thoughtfully. “If you wanted to. It rains quite often in spring but you can always see it coming so you’d have plenty of time to get under cover. There are some rivers and streams that we cross, but that’s on horseback through the shallows.”
“Horseback riding? Me?”
“Like I said, if you want to. Oh you don’t know how?”
“I am afraid there are not many horses in Quadling country and my grandfather only keeps carriage horses but I would like to learn and I would like very much to go out into the grasslands in spring.”
“It’s the most amazing place in the whole world, as far as I’m concerned.”
“I could see it from the window of the room I stayed in when we got here,” she replied quietly, encouraged by his passionate enthusiasm for his homeland. “It’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen.”
“Do you really think that?”
“Of course, I’m not lying to flatter you or something ridiculous if that’s what you think.”
“I didn’t.”
“Think?”
“Think that. I was just surprised, most people… well beautiful isn’t the first word they use when they first see the grasslands.”
“Most people find the Quadling jungle at the least aesthetically pleasing but the only effect it had on me was a rash from the humidity the entire time I lived there. Your grasslands look delightfully dry.”
“It will get gradually greener through the autumn and winter, it rains even more then. Except in the mountains where we are, up here it rains all autumn then switches to snow and ice, but that it’s still better for the older people to have a warm castle getting snowed on than a tent getting rained on. Better for the horses too.”
“Horses?”
“I suppose you wouldn’t know that my people raise horses, to sell and trade as well as to use for travelling in the grasslands. When my family took over this place they discovered practically miles of caverns in surrounding mountains, which can be reached from the castle, and turned them into stables. Some of the more old-fashioned members of the tribe prefer living in there to the comforts of the castle. Something about the heritage of our tribe being corrupted by eastern frivolities, such as real beds with cotton sheets and the like.”
“My grandfather has a similar opinion about comfortable beds,” remarked Elphaba. “The beds in the manor house at Nest Hardings greatly resemble rocks with sheets on them.”
“What about in Quadling country?” asked Fiyero curiously, he’d never been out of the Vinkus except to go to the Emerald City on business with his father.
“In Quadling country…well it depends on where you are. In the semipermanent settlements they have beds, for lack of a better word, woven from reeds and grasses. The finished object greatly resembles a very large basket, which they line with soft grasses and leaves.”
“That doesn’t sound terribly…umm…”
“Hygienic?” offered Elphaba. “Most people change their bedding before it starts to rot but it was difficult in the wet season to find bedding so it did used to get a bit…hmm fragrant.”
“I don’t suppose our winter tents would be exactly pleasant to an outsider either,” conceded Fiyero. “For all that the city bred folk look down on us we’re not nearly as primitive as they think, just different.”
“You’ve been visited by them in winter?”
“Not personally but back in my grandfather’s time, it’s my father’s opinion that it’s not only the snow that keeps visitors away after autumn.”
“I recall the few northerners, who weren’t missionaries that is, who visited the Quadling country were horrified by the fact what they call a house down there isn’t made of stone.”
She shivered slightly at the memories that were brought up by talking about her childhood home but Fiyero mistook the movement.
“Are you cold? It does get a bit chilly up here at this time of morning.”
“A little,” she said, because she didn’t want to be asked what had caused her to shiver if not that. “Do you know if they put my clothes in here somewhere?”
“In here,” said Fiyero, having finally puzzled out the strangely coloured garments hanging in his wardrobe. “I didn’t realise until just then... this headache has made my brain a bit fuzzy.”
She murmured something inconsequential and politely stared out of the nearby window while Fiyero started, and finished, getting dressed. Once he moved away from the wardrobe, informing her he was going downstairs to talk to his father, she looked inside and discovered that all of her meagre possessions had been quite carelessly stacked on the bottom under her dresses.
As was usual for the Arjiki in their winter home Fiyero had no idea where his father might be at this time of the day, though he was certain he would be up. As it happened he came across his mother, in a small sitting room near the dining hall, first – shortly after he found some servants and instructed them to clean up his rooms and take a headache potion for his wife with them.
“Good morning, your Majesty,” he said in an icily formal tone. He had no idea if his mother had been a willing accomplice in the drugging of the newlywed couple and wasn’t feeling particularly generous in any case.
“You’re out and about early in the day, my son,” she replied in Arjiki, the same language he had addressed her in. “For one so recently wed.”
“I’m looking for your husband.”
“He said something about going to the library,” she paused as she realised her son was barely holding his temper under the thin mask of civility. “Is there something wrong?”
“If you are referring to my mood I am currently suffering the rather vile after-effects of that… concoction my father insisted on dosing myself and my bride with last night.”
“I would have you know that I had nothing to do with that,” replied his mother, in a soft formal tone, she clearly either knew or had guessed what that concoction had been. “Having experienced the effects myself I would have refused to have anything to do with it if I had been asked but I was not.”
“I never really thought you would,” said Fiyero in a conciliatory tone. “It’s him I’m angry with, for interfering in my life yet again and for hurting a poor innocent girl in the process!”
“How did Elphaba fare?” asked his mother gently.
“I… she says she’s fine but after what we guess happened last night… well I wouldn’t blame her for not wanting to tell me if she wasn’t.”
“Perhaps I could talk to her?”
“I thought she was supposed to be in isolation, isn’t that what our ridiculously antiquated customs insist upon?”
“Even your antiquated ancestors understood that a woman needs a woman to talk to at time like this. If she was Arjiki her own mother would be allowed to counsel her but as she is of Munchkinland and motherless besides I believe that, with your permission, it would be acceptable for me to speak with her in a purely advisory capacity.”
“By all means,” agreed Fiyero straight away. “I think that’s a very good idea, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course not, I remember what it is like to be a foreign bride in this culture.”
With little more conversation they went their separate ways. Fiyero found his father in the library, apparently absorbed in a large and very dusty book.
“Good morning, Your Majesty,” said the prince in a completely bland tone.
“Avoiding your new wife already, son?” replied his father, chuckling softly. “Can’t say I blame you for that! Her grandfather mentioned that she could read though so you’ll have to find somewhere else to hide next week.”
“I did not come here to hide from my wife,” replied Fiyero, after taking a deep breath. “I came to speak to you, sir, about your underhand behaviour at our wedding celebration!”
“Underhand behaviour? What in Oz are you talking about, boy?”
“Oh just a small matter of some drugged wine!” snapped Fiyero, losing the last vestige of self-control he possessed at his father’s offhand tone. “And the related matter of me not remembering anything that happened last night after the last round of toasts!”
“You’re welcome,” said his father placidly, ignoring what he saw as an unreasonable outburst. “You’ll thank me for it later, boy, trust me.”
“I don’t believe I ever really trusted you and I certainly never shall again!”
“Now, now, there’s no need to have a fit of hysterics about it!” his father berated Fiyero sharply and stood up to emphasise his displeasure his son’s attitude. It wasn’t a particularly effective method of intimidation as Fiyero’s father had to look up slightly to look him in the eye.
“I believe my reaction so far has been quite moderate, considering what you did!”
“Well I could hardly warn you, now could I?” his father insisted in a reasonable tone. “Couldn’t have you having last minute second thoughts and making a mess of the alliance, this way it’s signed and sealed properly.”
“Of course,” said Fiyero coldly. “I should have realised that a successful alliance was your goal in this situation. I beg your pardon for assuming you might show some feeling for the human beings involved in it.”
“Now see here!” blustered his father furiously.
“I’m done, thank you,” Fiyero cut him off sharply and left the room with no further comment.
After Fiyero left the room Elphaba went through her things and found the oil she used on her skin so she could clean up before she got dressed for the day. When she was done she went back to the wardrobe and stared at it with a frown as she realised the dress she wanted to wear was not present – she assumed one of the servants had, by accident or request, neglected to bring it upstairs with the rest of her things. Examining the remaining choices, all as bad as each other as far as she was concerned, she decided on the lavender cotton dress.
Just as Elphaba finished tying the dark purple silk ribbon around her waist, the frivolity sadly necessary for keeping the dress in place, there was a short knock on the door followed by the entrance of two young women wearing what she had guessed to be the servants’ uniform in Kiamo Ko. One of them made her way to the bed and began expressionlessly stripping off the blankets and sheets while the other held out a mug of what looked to Elphaba to be pale green sludge. When the Prince’s wife raised her eyebrows questioningly at maid and cup both the older girl, holding the cup in one hand, mimed that it was a headache cure and Elphaba gratefully accepted it though she was cautious about taking the first sip in case it was made too much of water.
Fortunately it seemed that, while the potion tasted disgusting, it was made with milk and so was safe for her to drink. Holding the cup in both hands she sat down on the cushioned window seat and studiously avoided looking at the servants until they finished their work and left. Even then she kept looking out of the window, it overlooked the grasslands as the other room had and she found that she much preferred enjoying the view to considering the future.
Another knock on the door failed to really attract her attention and it wasn’t until she was bid ‘good morning’ in accented Ozian that she turned around to look at her mother-in-law.
“Good morning,” she replied politely. “I apologise if I’m too informal but I don’t really know how I am supposed to address you.”
“In public you should call me ‘Your Majesty’, if you speak to me directly, or ‘Her Majesty, the Queen’ if you refer to me to others – not that there are many here who speak the same language as you.”
“Hopefully there will be someone who can teach me to speak Arjiki.”
“I would be happy to, if my son feels he doesn’t have the time.”
“I haven’t asked him yet,” replied Elphaba defensively, she disliked the disapproving tone the Queen used. “We’ve hardly had time to talk, what with… one thing and another.”
“In private,” remarked the Queen, continuing her earlier sentence. “You may call me Eilan, which is the name I was given by my people when I became a woman.”
“Eilan,” repeated Elphaba. “Does it have a meaning in your language?”
“I should have said it was part of my name. My full name is Eilankianamehitala, which means ‘sunrise over the mountains’ – more or less.”
“My word, do all of your people have such long names?”
“Names are very important to all of the tribes despite the fact we have different traditions. For example, among my people a son would never be given the same name as his father, as my husband’s people do, for fear that the Khiaresh Neradha – the Death Spirit -would mistake the younger for the elder.”
“It’s all very interesting, I’d like to hear more about your people.”
“I would be happy to tell you but not today because this was supposed to be a short visit to make sure you were not injured.”
“Physically I am quite unharmed,” said Elphaba politely. “And I presume that is the main condition you were concerned about?”
“It was, though I realise you must also have feelings about the situation and I empathise with you. I would not have you repeat this but I think you are luckier than I was – my son has the potential to be a much better man than his father.”
“For that you have my sympathy,” replied Elphaba, clearly meaning for the fact that Eilan was married to a man like the King instead of a man like her son.
“One learns to cope and in many ways he is just like the men of my tribe. Now I bid you good day, I will not see you for another six days. When the period of isolation ends you will be considered the Prince’s wife and a woman of the Arjiki. There are very few traditional duties associated with the position and they are all assigned at the Prince’s discretion so I will leave it to him to tell you.”
On her way back to the main section of the castle Queen Eilan met her son heading up to his rooms.
“Good morning,” she said politely, even though they had already spoken once already she sensed that her son was very angry and so formality was the best approach.
“Unfortunately not,” sighed Fiyero. “But it’s unlikely to get worse.”
He met his mother’s eyes briefly before looking studiously over her shoulder.
“Is my wife well?”
“She spoke truly to you when she said she was physically unharmed. She is not happy,” his mother added, quite unnecessarily in Fiyero’s opinion. “But that is only to be expected.”
“Thank you for speaking to her.”
“It was no hardship.”
After a few more banal pleasantries they continued on their separate ways. Fiyero pushed the door open, its well-oiled hinges making no sound to announce his presence, and hesitated to look at the woman inside. She looked different again, dressed in the Eastern fashion, with her hair still all tangled from sleep – he wondered if not brushing her hair was a symptom of her unhappiness.
“I can hear you breathing,” she observed, without turning away from the view outside the window. “So you might as well speak.”
“Did you know it was me?” he wondered. “Or just that there was someone here?”
“There was a good chance that it was you,” she replied politely. “Since most of the people around here aren’t allowed to speak to me yet and don’t speak the same language even if they were allowed.”
“That sounds very sensible.”
“It sounds like you can’t decide if that is a good thing or not,” observed Elphaba. “Would you prefer it if I got hysterical? I could try but I’m not by nature a person who has hysterics.”
“I didn’t suppose you were,” Fiyero assured her. “I believe a person inclined to hysterics would have had them long before now.”
“Most certainly,” agreed Elphaba. “In fact I should probably warn you that as a rule I am not given to being openly emotional, unless you count being sarcastic and angry obviously.”
“Noted,” said Fiyero then, feeling he should reciprocate, added: “I’m normally not much of one for making conversation so if it seems like I’m not talking to you it’s only that I don’t have much to say.”
“Also noted,” replied Elphaba. “You looked at me oddly when you came in, why was that?”
“You saw me?”
“Your reflection in the glass.”
“I was just thinking you looked different in that dress, compared to earlier.”
“I would have put the wedding dress back on,” she explained, almost nervously. “But I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to and anyway I haven’t the faintest idea how to get it back on.”
“I’d offer to help but it’s always been a mystery to me,” admitted Fiyero. “Anyway I don’t mind what you wear… not that I’m assuming in any way that you were asking for my permission.”
“Fast learner, aren’t you,” remarked Elphaba. Feeling she was being a little rude by not facing him she gestured to the window she was looking out of. “The view from these rooms is wonderful, will we be spending the rest of the winter here?”
“There’s no reason why we couldn’t,” replied Fiyero congenially. “Mother had all of my things moved up here shortly before the wedding and I’m not particularly attached to the rooms I was living in. I’d offer to let you have your own room if you preferred it but…”
“Your father wouldn’t allow it?” Elphaba guessed and knew she was right by the expression on Fiyero’s reflection in the window. “It doesn’t matter, I mean the tents your people spend the other half of the year in are comparatively small aren’t they? So it will be good practice.”
“That’s very…”
“Sensible?” interjected Elphaba. “We already had that conversation.”
“So we did,” agreed Fiyero. “Is there room up there for me with you and your dress?”
Elphaba made a sound of disgust that was obviously directed at the metres of fabric that made up the full skirt of her gown then rearranged it so it took up less room and gestured brusquely for him to join her if he was so inclined. On his way across the room he picked something up from the chest of drawers before sitting down next to her.
“I remember that I used to like living out there all year, even though it was hard and I know it’s better for our weaker people to live in the castle and the caves,” he said reflectively as he looked out over the grasslands.
“Is there some reason why you can’t?”
“The same reason I can’t or have to do a lot of things,” replied Fiyero wearily. “My father believes that I am ‘too young’ to stay with the tribe without his guidance. You see, if I was out there, I would be expected to act as their Prince and take charge of those who choose to remain outside the castle in autumn and winter but my father believes I can’t handle the responsibility.”
“Your father is an ass,” remarked Elphaba with feeling, ignoring Fiyero’s startled expression at the use of mild profanity. “Apparently he’s cast in the same personality mould as my dear grandfather.”
“The one who didn’t even say goodbye to you before he left?”
“The very same.”
“Yet here we are, getting along well enough in spite of our families.”
“Is that what we’re doing?” asked Elphaba in genuine surprise. “Getting along?”
“We’re practically friends already,” Fiyero assured her. “As much as two people who have known each other for less than a day can be anyway.”
“Well I’ve never had a friend before so you’ll have to tell me if I’m doing it wrong.”
“I haven’t either, really,” admitted Fiyero. “So you’ll have to tell me if you think I’m doing it wrong.”
“I think I can do that,” agreed Elphaba. “Is a friend allowed to ask what the reason for the blue diamond tattoos is? I noticed that you and your father have them, in different places, but I don’t recall seeing them on any of the other men.”
“The rest of the men who have them spend the autumn and winter either out in the grasslands or down in the caves guarding the herds. It’s a symbol of the fact that we passed a certain manhood ritual – it’s required of any male of royal blood but the others chose to take it. Of course the definition of ‘passing’ in the case of this means living through it but there’s no shame in not taking it. If you’re an ordinary Arjiki boy you can still become a warrior of the People but those with the mark of the blue diamonds are the most... I’m not sure of the correct phrasing in Ozian. They are the most sought after husbands, the most preferred for important duties.”
“I think you’d say they have the highest social status,” answered Elphaba thoughtfully. “Since you have a royal family I suppose they would be the equivalent of noblemen, except northern and eastern noblemen have their rank because their fathers did – they don’t even have to prove themselves worthy as you did, which strikes me as a ridiculous method of deciding who will rule a piece of land. What would have happened if your father was left without an heir?”
“Well if I’d had brothers the next oldest would have been required to take the test when he turned fifteen and so on until one of them survived. That’s how it was with my father, he was the youngest of seven and five of those were sons. Since my father has only one child he would have had a choice between taking a new wife or adopting one of the warriors who had survived the ritual.”
“How does one take another wife when the first is still living? I haven’t lived very long out of Quadling country so I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“Is it true they don’t have marriage in Quadling country?” wondered Fiyero. “There are all sorts of rumours you know.”
“They certainly don’t have any equivalent to arranged marriages,” conceded Elphaba. “But they have couples who are permanently paired, they just don’t feel the need to make a big fuss about it and being permanently paired doesn’t equate to the northern notion of monogamy. Of course those the missionaries manage to convert do marry in the Unionist fashion quite often and follow the…rules I suppose they are of marriage. Did Great-Grandfather bother to tell your father that my father is a Unionist missionary in Quadling country?”
“Your father is a Unionist missionary and your grandfather still implied that you hadn’t been…”
“As good as I should have?” finished Elphaba, Fiyero nodded. “Probably because I made my lack of belief in the Unnamed God quite apparent in the time I lived with him. My sister, on the other…hand, embraced the religion quite fanatically and I would be surprised if she actually accepts the rank of Eminent Thropp when our Grandfather dies – it will depend entirely on whether her desire to have control and preach to all and sundry outweighs her desire to become a maunt and devote her life to God.”
“What happens to the rank of Eminence if she decides to refuse it?”
“Our brother, Shell, would inherit then my daughters – if any – then any daughter of his followed by any son. It’s traditionally a rank that follows matrilineal inheritance but Great-Grandfather’s mother had no daughters and neither did her one sibling so the rank went to her only son.”
“Do you think she will refuse?”
“I think it depends how long Grandfather manages to stay in this world. You wouldn’t think it to look at him but the man is closer to eighty than seventy.”
“I’m surprised he made such a long journey in person, when he could have had the agreement sent to him to sign then sent back with you for the wedding.”
“I suppose he didn’t trust anyone else to be able to handle me until all of the papers were signed and I was someone else’s problem.”
“I don’t think of you as a problem!”
Elphaba was so startled by his declaration that she turned away from the view, neither of them having made eye contact since he came back into the room, to look at him and smile ever so slightly.
“Thank you,” she acknowledged him simply, her tone was softer but her voice still sounded harsh so he assumed it must be her natural way of speaking. “I’ve been lucky beyond deserving that the husband my grandfather arranged for me is capable of interesting conversation and doesn’t want to leave me cooped up in this castle all year round.”
“I feel the same, about the intelligent conversation. I have to confess something though,” he added, guilty looing away from her. “When my father offered me a choice between waiting a few years to marry a beautiful cripple or marrying a girl who was unattractive but otherwise whole now… well I was tempted to ask for your sister.”
“Why didn’t you?” she was curious but her tone didn’t seem accusatory to Fiyero.
“I wanted a wife who could share every aspect of my life with me, if she chose to, and I gave myself a stern talking to over being so shallow as to care about her looks. You probably haven’t seen enough of my people to be able to tell but I’m not exactly a prize when it comes to looks – in fact I’m considered quite homely and if it wasn’t for the fact I was a prince who had passed the ritual of blue diamonds I’d probably never have gotten a wife at all.”
“I find your personality far more interesting than your looks,” said Elphaba with a shrug. “Regardless of how they compare to your fellow Arjiki. And if I can learn how to live like your people do then I will happily, or at least willingly, follow you out into the grasslands come spring.”
“I’ll be happy to teach you some of it and I’m sure there are women who would be happy to help with the other things once you learn our language. You do want to learn our language don’t you?”
“Of course,” agreed Elphaba emphatically. “How else could I talk to people who don’t speak Ozian? But if you don’t want to take the time your mother offered to teach me.”
“I wouldn’t be much of a friend if I couldn’t do something simple like that for you now would I? We could start this week if you wanted, since we’re stuck in these few rooms together for the next seven days.”
“I’m sure that’s not what we’re expected to be doing,” she said caustically.
“And you always do what people expect you to do?” he countered disbelievingly.
“I avoid it wherever possible,” replied Elphaba, clearly seeing his point. “Shall we start now?”
“We can,” agreed Fiyero. “There was one thing though, you seem to have misplaced your hairbrush so I thought you might like to borrow my comb – unless you don’t particularly feel like brushing your hair today, it makes no difference to me.”
At the end of this short but obviously sincere speech he took a comb, carved from some kind of white rock, out of his pocket and offered it to her.
“Thank you. I only have a comb but it seems to have gone missing in all the packing and unpacking of my things.”
Elphaba took the comb, intending to put it to good use, and found almost immediately that her dress restricted her movements to the point where she could only reach parts of her hair. Seeing her plight Fiyero held out his hand with a murmured “let me?”, Elphaba looked startled but handed him the comb then sat quietly while he stood up behind her and combed the parts she couldn’t reach.
“Why do easterners design clothes that stop women from doing such simple things as brushing their own hair?” he wondered softly.
“Clothes like this are designed for women who have maids, servants, to do those things for them. This is actually considered a very simplistic style of dress, I never wore anything like it until a few days ago when my grandfather took away all of the clothes I had from Quadling country. In Gillikin there are ladies who regularly wear dresses that they cannot even put on themselves – they call it ‘fashion’. The Quadlings and, from what I’ve seen, the Arjiki are much more sensible. What is that comb made of, some kind of rock?”
“Bisha ra das elephant,” replied Fiyero, Elphaba got the impression that the answer was several words but the language was so fluid that they all sounded like one long word to her. “I think easterners call it ‘ivory’, it comes from elephants.”
“All that you just said means ivory?” asked Elphaba incredulously.
“No,” Fiyero shook his head then explained. “It means ‘bone of the elephant’.”
“Can you say it slowly, break it down for me?”
“Bisha is bone, ra is of, das is the, and elephant…well we named them so it’s elephant but we say it slightly differently.”
“Like my name, it sounds almost the same in Arjiki, I noticed at the wedding ceremony.”
After that came an argument about Fiyero’s method of teaching. Elphaba wanted to know as many words as possible as soon as possible but Fiyero insisted on teaching one at a time and making her say it until it was pronounced properly. He eventually won that argument by convincing her that it would take longer to correct bad pronunciation than it would to learn each word properly to begin with and they spent the rest of the afternoon, with one break to eat, doing just that. By the time it started to get dark Elphaba could almost understand the words she’d learnt when Fiyero used them in sentences and she could manage to haltingly speak them herself, though Fiyero had to try hard not to smile at her accent.
“Enough!” declared Fiyero, when it was completely dark outside. “There’s always tomorrow.”
“I’m sorry,” said Elphaba contritely. “It’s just… it wasn’t nearly so difficult to learn Quadling.”
“Since you grew up there, I imagine that you started a lot younger,” said Fiyero. “You’re doing fine, I didn’t learn so many words and phrases the first day I started studying your language! Now I think it’s time to rest, especially if you still feel as wretched from that cursed potion as I do.”
Elphaba nodded in agreement and looked like she wanted to say something.
“Question?” guessed Fiyero perceptively. He’d been paying attention to her body language all afternoon, he’d had to since she spoke so little.
“I was just wondering if your people wear clothes to bed and if you don’t whether you expect me not to.”
Elphaba had a vague feeling that the question should be more awkward but after the events of that morning it didn’t seem like much to get embarrassed about.
“You can wear what you like,” said Fiyero. “We don’t have any particular rules, mostly we wear clothes to bed when it’s cold and don’t bother when it isn’t. Of course if it bothers you for me to… you know, not… then I will.”
“Thank you for being so understanding. Maybe we could not look while we’re changing clothes? At least until we are, well I don’t know how you feel so I suppose I mean ‘I am’, feeling more comfortable about it?”
“Of course,” agreed Fiyero, deciding right then to wear his light summer trousers to bed for a while. “That’s hardly an unreasonable request.”
“I hope you don’t kick too much,” remarked Elphaba, when they were sitting – a little awkwardly – in the bed together.
“I’ve never shared a bed with anyone to have complaints,” admitted Fiyero. “But somehow I don’t doubt that you’ll kick back if you feel the situation warrants it.”
Elphaba made a low sound of amusement and snuggled down under the covers. Fiyero put out the lamp then did the same, both of them thankful for the fact that the bed was big enough to fit three or four people in it.