The Joust and the Maid's Hidden Longing
“What are you even going there for? What’s there to see at someone else’s wedding?”
“It’s not just someone else’s wedding. It’s the princess’s wedding.”
Tichite’s resentment toward him refused to fade. She answered with a sullen pout.
Wherever a festival took place, seagulls naturally flocked in hopes of snatching up the scraps. The wares sold by merchants both great and small were fascinating, and the clownish antics of performers in ridiculous costumes or the ballads of wandering minstrels offered no small amount of delight. Yet what Tichite truly looked forward to was something else entirely.
“I promised Sera we’d go watch the joust together.”
“The joust?”
The joust—also known as the tilt—was a form of mock combat. These days, however, it had taken on a strongly recreational flavor. Whenever the nobility of Bigland had something grand to celebrate, they held the event to draw crowds and provide entertainment. With the realm at peace, knights no longer had real wars in which to distinguish themselves. The joust became the easiest way for them to play the hero. Any man who needed fame threw himself into it without hesitation.
Watching valiant men mounted on horseback and set against one another was a spectacle everyone enjoyed, regardless of class or gender. Nobles and commoners alike took considerable pleasure in the brutal sport, and Tichite was no exception.
She simply preferred the sight of vigorous, magnificent strength to the gruesome image of men bleeding out and dying.
Armor gleaming like polished plates, slender lances, muscular warhorses… Every romantic ideal that could make a girl’s cheeks flush lived there in that arena.
“What’s so fun about watching people stab each other to death with swords…?”
Her brother knew nothing of such valor and had no desire to learn. His bored, sulky pout was so irritating she wanted to rip it off his face.
“It’s not swords, it’s lances. And it’s not even a fight to the death.”
“Well… if someone’s unlucky, they might still lose their life, but…”
Tichite often found herself imagining a splendid knight suddenly entering her life. She pictured a strong, magnificent man who would punish Nirgi on her behalf. As the daydream lingered, she slowly fastened the buttons of her outer garment.
The port town of Saltcoast was home to all kinds of people. It was a place where a foreigner’s distinctiveness didn’t stand out too sharply. When she blended in among them, Tichite’s small stature and reddish skin somehow felt inconsequential.
Tichite Ranlam was not the type to aggressively seek out friendships. Even so, she was hardly the sort to remain isolated within the home. If the opportunity arose, she was more than willing to form connections with others. Sera—the friend she had promised to watch the joust with today—was one such person.
“Can you really call that family?” Sera had said.
Every time Tichite spoke of Nirgi, Sera grew angry on her behalf. Nothing was truly resolved, but simply having someone who would listen brought her comfort.
“You paid off all his gambling debts last time, didn’t you? So why on earth are you handing him money again and pushing him back to the tables?”
“Still… lately Nirgi has started working at the saltern.”
“It’s getting a little better.” Tichite murmured the words as if she wanted to believe them.
In truth, Sera did not know that Tichite was sometimes beaten by her brother. Uncomfortable with the awkward silence that followed, the woman quickly changed the subject.
“Let’s stop talking about Nirgi. Now that we’re out of the house, I can finally breathe. By the way, there are so many people here, aren’t there?”
When Sera looked around in exaggerated wonder, Tichite’s gaze followed.
At some point the harbor had grown far more crowded with people than with seagulls. The main streets were packed shoulder to shoulder. Ships had been arriving in lines at the Saltcoast docks for weeks, and even more visitors poured in from overland.
The lord of Saltcastle had opened a new road in preparation for this day. Thanks to that, the port had become a thriving trade hub where both sea and land routes flourished more with each passing season.
As varied as the goods on display, people of every description thronged the streets. Unauthorized peddlers spread their mats haphazardly while bundle merchants shouted and rang bells to attract customers.
Men of uncertain origin cast sly glances at Sera—exactly the sort of look that always followed an attractive woman. Sera seemed used to it and paid the attention no mind.
Tichite looked up at her with fresh eyes. Sera was a tall, voluptuous blonde Endel woman. Her appearance was the kind that drew favor wherever she went. Even under such harsh sunlight, her skin remained white as porcelain. Tichite wondered how flushed her own face must look by comparison.
Her gaze drifted to the way Sera’s dress boldly revealed the full, round shape of her breasts.
“It feels like strange men are staring at your body.”
“Let them look if they want.”
Sera answered with the same confident poise as her expression. Then she turned her criticism on Tichite’s own attire.
“But your clothes are so unbearably dull. You’ve covered your wrists, your ankles—every bit of skin you possibly can.”
The skirt Tichite wore was so long it nearly dragged on the ground. Her sleeves extended past her wrists to cover her palms, and the high collar, buttoned all the way up, looked especially stifling.
“Of course, every Tilamin I know dresses like you… but do you really have to advertise it so loudly?”
In a different sense, Tichite’s appearance stood out as well. It was partly due to her natural coloring, but the deliberate choices she made in grooming played an even greater role.
Her eyes were so dark it was difficult to distinguish pupil from iris. Her hair was similarly black and deep.
Yet what made her look most unusual was the way she braided that black hair tightly against her head and covered it with a net. Thanks to that, no one could tell whether her hair fell past her shoulders or past her chest.
“I don’t understand why you can’t let go of your own style even after coming to another country.”
Sera spoke lightly, as if it were nothing. She probably said the same thing about every Tilamin she had ever met. The remark included Tichite, but there was no malice in it.
At Sera’s comment, Tichite spread her arms and examined her own outfit. The top was a plain, pale yellow shirt, but the skirt and head covering were made of knitted fabric in the vivid colors and patterns typical of Tilamin style.
She was well aware that she looked like an obvious outsider. Still, she knew that an outsider who looked like an outsider received better treatment than one who desperately tried not to.
People tended to dislike foreigners who tried too hard to assimilate into their community. Rather than welcoming those who wished to blend into their culture, they often viewed them with suspicion and rejection. Stepping inside their tight-knit circle was never easy. Such people were treated as brazen intruders and met only with wariness and contempt.
People had a habit of forcing others into pre-existing categories. When they couldn’t, they grew uneasy. That was why Tichite chose to remain visibly, stereotypically Tilamin.
“It’s just… more comfortable for me this way.”
She had no desire to burden Sera with such complicated thoughts, so she answered as lightly as she could.
“I suppose other people feel the same?”
Besides, these clothes had been passed down from her grandmother. They were the finest garments she owned. Among commoners who handed clothing down through generations, it was hardly unusual.
“You really find it comfortable to tie, braid, and wrap your hair like that every single morning? Don’t lie to me, Tichite.”
Sera fanned the front of her own dress, complaining about the heat.
“Your grandmother isn’t here. No one will scold you if you show a little skin.”
Tichite merely shrugged as if the comment weren’t worth answering and kept her mouth shut.
Before the two women could find any common ground on the subject of clothing, they arrived at the city gates.