That, and That Alone
"An honored guest of Caliph, at a time like this? Don't tell me the young clan head means to announce a fiancée?"
Calvin Glosa, head of the house, gnawed at a fingernail, anxiety eating at him.
House Glosa was only one among the Caliph Clan's many retainer families, and until not long ago it had scarcely counted as a house of any weight. Then, a few generations past, a son of Glosa became consort to the reigning clan head, and the family vaulted overnight into the ranks of the leading houses. The glory did not last. As the years went on and other retainers pressed them aside, their fortunes began to sink, and Glosa grew restless. They had tasted power once. There was no going back to what they had been.
"Obli! Is there anyone you can think of?"
Calvin, who had been pacing his study in a fret, rounded on his daughter where she sat upon the sofa and shouted.
"You must know the rumors passing among the young ladies!"
If Caliph's honored guest truly was Young Clan Head Shirca's betrothed, then House Glosa would be nothing more than the dog that had chased the chicken—panting, and empty-handed. For years now they had tried every scheme they possessed to set Obli, of an age with Shirca, in the place of his wife.
"…There is one person. I suppose."
Obli had held her silence all the while, but at last she could not outlast her father's pressing, and she spoke.
"What? Who?"
"The last time I went to the atelier, I saw the lady and the young clan head. …The two of them were with a girl."
Calvin's eyes flew wide.
"A girl? A girl, you say…?"
"But it isn't the thing you're afraid of, Father. She was young enough that the young clan head could hold her in one arm."
The sight of not only Shirca but Sabrina doting on the child had startled Obli badly at the time. Once she calmed herself and thought it through, however, there was not the slightest chance that girl would ever become Shirca's fiancée.
"She was seven. Eight, at the very oldest."
Would Shirca take as his betrothed a child a full ten years his junior? He was not so thoughtless as that. If anything, he was so rational, so cold, that Obli could not find so much as a crack to slip through.
"I don't know why that girl should be an honored guest, but in any case, there's no need for you to worry—"
"Nonsense! Listen to you, talking so comfortably!"
Obli's calm explanation only made Calvin bellow.
"Keep thinking so carelessly, and if she really does snatch the fiancée's place, what will you do then?"
"Father, what could anyone possibly intend with a child of seven or eight—!"
"The clan head is still hale. Waiting ten years or so is nothing at all."
Good heavens. At a remark that fell beneath even common sense, a groan broke from Obli. But Calvin, blind with hunger for power, seized his daughter's shoulders hard.
"Obli, my daughter. At this banquet, no matter what else happens, you must catch the young clan head's eye. You must be the most beautiful one there. You must become his fiancée!"
"F-Father, my shoulder…"
The merciless grip of a predator beastkin hurt, and at her father's words Obli's eyes wavered.
"Now go and cultivate that beauty of yours. I am telling you to make an effort to please the young clan head!"
Calvin caught her by the arm and hauled her to her feet. Then he strode from the study and shouted at the maids waiting on his daughter.
"Make Obli the most beautiful woman in the world. If she is not even a little prettier for your pains, I will cut off every one of your useless hands."
"Yes, yes! We'll remember, my lord!"
The maid flung herself flat, trembling from head to foot. Calvin left his daughter where she was and turned away.
"…"
Obli smoothed a hand over the shoulder flushed red. She could feel everyone standing in the corridor watching her, taking their measure from her face.
My worth is that, and nothing else.
Becoming the young clan head's fiancée—that alone was her reason for living. Her value. And if, in the end, she failed to become his fiancée, if she was left with no use at all, what would become of her then?
I can't breathe.
There was nothing there, and yet invisible ropes seemed to cinch her whole body.
"Young lady, we should go."
Obli, who had been rubbing at her throat, yielded at last to the maid's urging and turned toward her room. Stifled or not, she had to be made beautiful, and at once—not to catch the young clan head's eye, but for the sake of those maids' hands. They cherished her more than her own father did.
"Oh my, young lady, you're far too lovely!"
The day of the banquet had come. The dress into which Madame Renouage had poured the whole of her soul shone upon Bariya.
"The lady's eye is truly remarkable. Who would have thought such a deep blue could suit you this well!"
Navy silk, white lace, and embroidery worked in gold thread. At her throat, in place of a heavy jeweled necklace, hung a ribbon of the same silk, and both wrists were dressed in lace and ribbon. Last of all, set in her soft wheat-colored hair, was a blue headband crowned by a great conspicuous pearl. It held at once a child's brightness and the elegance proper to a guest of honor of the clan.
"I know. Even I think she's too pretty."
Bariya, standing before the mirror, was every bit as flustered by her own reflection. She had only ever worn plain, unadorned dresses, things as comfortable as sleepwear. She had never been dressed like this, and so she hadn't known.
"Goodness. Flashy things suit me ridiculously well."
It was the great revelation of her ten years of life as a lynx.
If Mother could see me, she would have been so happy.
Claire had always been sorry she could not put Bariya in fine clothes, and heartbroken over it. Had she seen this, a hundred years of pent-up ache would have melted clean away, and she would have been overjoyed. It was a little sad.
"It's enough that you've learned it now."
Just then Sabrina flung the door open and came in.
Bariya, who had been staring blankly at herself in the glass, startled at the sight of her. A deep purple dress laid bare, to perfection, every curve of breast and waist and hip, and a fur shawl was draped over her arms. Splendid jewels, and beautiful silver hair spilling to one side. Sabrina was lovely on any day, but today she was more striking still, and Bariya's mouth fell open.
"…I'm taking back what I said about flashy things suiting me. With you standing there, I was terribly presumptuous."
At the sincerity of it, Sabrina's lips twitched.
"You do give the oddest compliments. Still—seeing how well splendor suits you, once you've grown you'll carry it off every bit as well as I do."
"Do you really think so?"
"I do. So from now on, wear flashy things often. That's how they come to suit you better. I was the same."
Perhaps because the words came from Sabrina and from no one else, they were remarkably persuasive.
"I understand."
When Bariya nodded with a grave little face, Madame Renouage and the maids who had been dressing the child bit down hard on their lips. Today, too, Bariya had been taken in by Sabrina's nonsense—which was not quite nonsense—but every one of them, of a single heart and mind, sided with her. They wanted this adorable young lady to abandon those wretched plain, pajama-like dresses and wear something splendid. As it happened, there were all the clothes Sabrina and Shirca had bought to their hearts' content not long ago. Just the thought of dressing her in them filled them with anticipation.
Knock, knock.
"Little one."
"Little one."
Baden and Shirca peeked into the room together. Meeting the eyes of Sabrina and Bariya where they stood side by side, both of them went wide-eyed.
"You look utterly perfect today."
"What would we have done if we hadn't opened a banquet?"
Before the two most beautiful women in the world, Baden's face and Shirca's alike went soft as melting wax. If there was anyone who could stand beside Sabrina—she who never yielded an inch where splendor was concerned—and not be outshone, it could only be Bariya.
"Krrung."
The last visitor arrived after them: White, the white tiger, cherished by Sabrina and forever in attendance whenever a banquet was held. White fawned on Sabrina first, ignored Baden and Shirca entirely, and went straight to Bariya. Then, like a well-trained puppy, she settled her haunches and lowered her head, as if to say, pet me.
"Oh, White dressed up too."
Bariya stroked White's head in slow, gentle passes.
"Oh my."
At the sight, Madame Renouage and the maids broke into laughter they did not quite manage to hide. Looking again, Bariya was not the only one adorned in blue. Sabrina's dress was purple, yet every ornament upon her was blue; Baden and Shirca had chosen blue for tie and boutonniere; and last of all White wore a blue ribbon necklace hung with a pearl. The matching set, coordinated with Bariya, was impossible to miss.
The lady must have chosen a different color of dress so the young lady would stand out—and then matched the ornaments all the same.
Feeling the affection all of them bore Bariya, everyone smiled, warm and content. Seen like this, they truly seemed one family. They only hoped she would remain here among the Caliphs for a long, long time.
"An honored guest of Caliph—who in the world could it be?"
"I know. If it were anyone but Caliph, perhaps. But if Caliph is going so far as to open a banquet to welcome an honored guest, they must be someone truly precious."
"And yet not a soul knows who they are. How strange."
Moonlight Hall—the largest and most splendid banquet hall of the Caliph Estate. No place could have suited a nocturnal gathering of predators better, and yet the hall was opened only a handful of times in a year. The New Year Assembly, the clan head's birthday, and the young clan head's birthday: only these three. A hall that opened on no other occasion had opened today under the name of a welcome for an honored guest, and so no one could help being astonished.
"Surely it couldn't be the young clan head's fiancée?"
At someone's words, Moonlight Hall fell quiet for an instant.
Cruel timing, that. In came House Glosa, the very house that had been eyeing Shirca's place as a fiancée with such patient hunger. Every gaze in the hall turned as one toward the door.