Riddermarch by Ellen Quellery (top fiction books of all time .txt) 📕

hand over her mouth with a private look to Erleon who seemed bored. His eyes were turned to the nearby trees, listening to the wind as it whispered secrets.

"Then we are off?" Dale said.

Jastalettel nodded and went with him to one of the carriages. She was determined to enter society properly.

Erleon whispered into Azuesh's ear as they headed to another carriage with Grennanod, "We are here to learn, Azu. One day Father will not be here, and we will have to take up the Riddermarch name. We must learn their ways."

Azuesh gazed tiredly at her brother. "I have seen their ways in town, brother. Rumbling through carriages in the countryside when they have legs to walk... Wheel ruts in the fields, crushing who knows what homes in the earth. It is so utterly offensive. I will have apologize to every frog and butterfly I meet for years."

"They don't live that long..." Erleon chuckled.

"And what was that nonsense about refinement?" Grennanod whispered, peeking back at the ladies who were gathering around Ranoft while he was admiring the horses of the lead carriage, whispering to them. "Azu's right. It is a bizarre standard - choosing not to use your own legs. It is like they want to be weak."

"Delicate, I think is the shape they are aiming for." Erleon looked back to the ladies.

Grennanod huffed this time. "There is a difference between delicate and frail."

Erleon chuckled. "Indeed."

But they joined a carriage and rode with the party, going soon into the wide lands around Rookshill. It was, of course, all Lord Baron Rooke's estate. Having his guests ride carriages through the untamed green land was his way of showing off - a custom everyone expected and, for that matter, hoped for. It was a rare opportunity to admire territory they would not be welcomed on otherwise.

Lord Baron Rooke rode at the heart of the party, the baroness at his side, perched elegantly on the seat in a fox-fur trimmed riding coat, and ample silk bonnet. Her smiles were proud, as always. Her gaze, drinking in with pleasure the crowd come to celebrate her marriage. When her eyes settled on the Riddermarch ladies and gentlemen, her smile spread a little wider.  

She whispered to the lord baron, her husband. And he looked.

His smile crooked at both ends. None of the Riddermarch children ever thought it was pleasant, and even now it filled them with the deepest shiver.

Fact was, it seemed almost impossible to avoid the Baron and Baroness Rooke whenever they had openly visited the village for whatever errand. Like bad luck. So many times in the past, their frequent encounters had not been so much overtly unpleasant, but more like smelling a stink no one else could detect and being unable to do anything about it. The baron and baroness always seemed to be gloating in their exchanged 'pleasantries' (if you could call them that) and condolences. And yet at the same time an intense sensation of hate came from them - without words. Even now, the brothers and sisters could sense they had been invited into the party by a pair of crocodiles - animals which they had only seen in books. Besides, they could smell magic on the pair - especially from the Lord Baron. And this magic had a rank odor that reminded them of stomach acid.

"I hear tell that there is a sorcerer in this region," said Alder Ildenwite, the third of the aristocrat trio from the inn, as if willed from the Riddermarches' thoughts. "Is it true?"

One of the ladies in his carriage chuckled, fluttering her fan to keep cool and also to look more effeminate. "Oh, I hope not."

"A sorcerer has been accused of bringing blights on neighboring villages," said another man from the city; a man with hairy chops and a thin mustache. He turned his eyes toward Jastalettel with a hint of predatory hunger. "I hear the lands around Ryewall have been inflicted with sick livestock. Your family invests in livestock, does it not?"

Jastalettel flushed.

"A lady does not get involved in business," Dale defended her. "You shouldn't ask."

But Jastalettel replied, "Father's business is in horses and fisheries. He also has a hand in copper mining and in farmland north of Oldenclover. But not things such as cattle and sheep. To him, the industry seems cruel."

"Not into the beef, are you?" The city man with the chops chuckled. He peeked to the ladies who snickered behind their fans.

Blushing, Jastalettel straightened up. With her chin high, she said, "Not into cruelty. We tend toward following the natural ways of life."

"Do you not eat meat at all?" one of the ladies laughed.

Turning to her, Jastalettel said, "Wild game. And not in excess."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" a lady in light frosty flounces and a lacy hat piped up with affront. Her full cheeks were rosy. She filled out her gown with admiring curves and lines. Well fed.

"We do not take more than we need, and we do not waste." A butterfly settled on Jastalettel's shoulder.

The frosty flouncy woman huffed, rolling her eyes with expressive fan fluttering. "Oh, for pity's sake. You talk like a pauper. The world is full, and we are the masters of it. You are speaking nonsense."

But Jastalettel merely stared at her with her dark glassy eyes.

Another two butterflies rested on the top of her bonnet.

"Have you never been to a feast?" the woman in flounces protested more loudly, feeling hotter under Jastalettel's stare.

"Daily," Jastalettel answered. "But we do not make more than we can share."

This time the woman looked confused. Three more butterflies settled on Jastalettel's hat and shoulders. They folded and unfolded their wings rhythmically, almost as if humming a song together. And Jastalettel secretly smiled.

"They're..." Dale stared at her, as the others started to. "You seem to be attracting..."

"Oh!" Jastalettel chuckled, and immediately all the butterflies lifted off and fluttered away into the breeze. "We had strawberries this morning. They must still smell them on me."

Somewhere in the other carriage where Erleon and the other two sisters were riding, squirrels climbed up and sat on the end. No one noticed anything odd happening around Ranoft until they stopped and a bird landed on his shoulder, pecking near his ear.

"Shoo!" The man driving his carriage chased it away with his cane, startling Ranoft. The eldest Riddermarch ducked as the cane came really close to his face.

"I'm so sorry," the man apologized to Ranoft, "Did it hurt you?"

Ranoft blinked, thought a second and said, "No, sir. It merely paused for a breath."

Then he walked on.

 

The blankets and umbrellas for the picnic were laid out quickly by the servants. Food spread under the canopies in the shade, and everyone lounged on the ground as if it was a most novel idea to lay so comfortably among the grass in the countryside. Never mind that they were not in fact touching the ground at all. It was idea of the thing.

Lord Baron and Baroness Rooke sat in the center, enjoying the attention. The Riddermarches sat together, with the exception of Jastalettel who remained with Dale Rawling and his party from the carriage. Ranoft entertained Azuesh with a story the bird had told him, under whispers, while Grennanod was memorizing the pattern of the veins in the leaf she had just found. After the sandwiches and chicken had been eaten up and desserts with fruit were passed out, Erleon had wandered off with a group of men who dared to climb the towering oak nearby. He was watching them from the ground, smirking.

Baroness Rooke rose to stretch her legs and to pay due attention to party-goers. During her rounds, she stopped briefly near the Riddermarches.

"Well, what a pleasing sight it is to see you all out with society, or near enough to it? How is your mother? Conscious?"

All three Riddermarches sitting together flushed a deep red. Baroness Rooke never had anything nice to say about their mother, but this was the first blatant remark she had ever made.

"She is very well, thank you," Ranoft replied a little too briskly.

But Baroness Rooke merely smiled as if she were sharing her pleasant wishes with them all. "I expect her declining health has been a trial for you all. Do you have enough nurses? I can recommend a few. They are the best."

"Mother is in the best of health, thank you,"Azuesh said, stiffening.

"Oh really?" Baroness Rooke replied, feigning pleasure at the news, but they could tell it irritated her to hear it. "Is she now speaking?"

Ranoft rose to his feet. He bowed curtly, meeting the baroness's steely eyes. "Father is doing the best he can to find a cure. But elves are rarely forgiving."

Baroness Rooke stepped back. A faint stab of terror shot through her eyes, but she shook it off and raised herself back to her previous stature. "I see. Very well then."

She was about to walk off when she turned and said, "But your father... has he ever considered that he might be mistaken? He has been chasing the cure for so long..."

"Father is determined," Grennanod declared. Everyone heard her, which had originally been a private argument.

Nodding in concession, the baroness chuckled smugly. "Yes...but really, your mother is nothing more than a doll."

It took everything within Ranoft not to curse the woman. His skin was itching with it. Fury ran through his entire body, from head to fingertips and toes. The very hairs prickled on the back of his neck and arms.

But Grennanod whispered, "The sorcerer is watching. Did it not occur to you that this is all a game?"

Curling his fingers into fists, Ranoft nodded and sat back down. "Every day."

"She is baiting us," Azuesh said. "She always has."

"And what would he do if we attacked her for speaking that way about Mother?" Grennanod added.

"Indeed." But Ranoft did not relax. "But why us? We have not interfered in his intrigues and schemes."

"Maybe he is waiting for us to?" Grennanod said.

Azuesh nodded.

They looked to Jastalettel, who, despite her calm countenance, had grown harried by the conversation between the ladies she was sitting with. Verbally, they were picking her apart, trying to make her feel small, aiming to make her feel like a country bumpkin. The only thing they had succeeded at was making her wish to summon a hill of ants which were currently crawling into the skirts of the chubby lady in the flouncy dress. The bees were telling her brothers and sisters that she was ready to leave the party now - forget the polite attentions of Mr. Dale Rawling.

On the other side of the party, the young gents climbing the tree finally goaded Erleon to see if he could climb higher than they in the boughs. He was already halfway up, light-footed and aided by the tree itself - though they did not realize or notice - when the ants had begun to attack the lady in the flouncy dress.

"Great fun, this," announced Ernest Brokwood, walking up to Ranoft. "But how about we all have a race. Us gents together."

A couple of the men agreed, rising.

Then the woman in the flouncy dress screamed.

Her entire group stood up, shouting, "Ants!"

And that was the end of The Picnic.

Everyone heaved up the blankets and food. The servants rescued the dishes while several of the ladies with Miss Flouncy Dress grabbed her skirts and tried to shake the ants out. The ants fell on their arms and proceeded to bite them instead.

Jastalettel escaped back to her sisters, duly followed by Dale who had no clue the event was Jastalettel's fault.

And as the ladies screamed, Flouncy Dresses' closest friends still trying to save her, the three Riddermarch ladies stood back together, giggling.

Baroness Rooke turned sharp eyes their way. And the lord baron's eyes followed.

"Jasta!" Ranoft hissed at his sister. "Really! Was that necessary?"

"It was," she said. Yet she huffed after another terse look from her brother and ended it, calling ants to leave.

Some ants were reluctant to go. Jastalettel's anger had lingered, and it took ants more time