Talon the Black (Dragonwall Series # 1)

Chapter 39 - Responsibilities

Redport

Tamara turned her head this way and that, studying her reflection in the looking glass. Gemstones glittered in her hair as they caught the glow of orange light from the setting sun. Her hair was fetching, but not nearly as lovely as her ice-blue eyes.

"Hold still!" She received a warning tug upon her unfinished black tresses. A pile of hair was already gathered upon the crown of her head as a braided bun took form. Jeweled pins were placed throughout the twisted plaits. The ornaments cost a fortune that only the richest girls could afford. Ordinarily, riches were of little interest to her, but tonight was different—tonight was special.

She smiled at herself, the gesture hesitant. There in the reflection was a hint of emerging beauty where before there had been none. Gone were the days of her childhood. Her womanhood would soon be upon her.

Without warning she shrieked. A painful sensation forced her gaze away from her own reflection. Her mother's lips twitched before deft fingers tugged another willful section of hair tightly into place. "Gods, Mother! Must it hurt so?" Her long hair was a weight pulling at every strand upon her scalp.

"It must. I will not have this unruly mess of yours coming undone whilst you turn about the floor."

"Turn about the floor?" Her mouth opened. It took several slow breaths to process her mother's meaning. "I am permitted to dance, then?" Her father always forbade dancing, as was right for a parent with a daughter not yet a woman.

"Yes, I convinced your father. You are nearing womanhood—long overdue I might add." Most girls her age had already bled. She often got the impression her mother resented her for the lateness of it. A girl should be a woman by age fifteen. "Regardless of your lateness, I see no reason to hold you back. Should you not partake?"

"I...yes." A tingle of excitement seeped into her chest, moving down to the tips of her fingers and toes. "I would like to dance, very much so."

Her mother afforded her a slow, knowing smile, but something about it was off. The gesture was too forced. She ignored it and instead imagined herself turning about the floor, noticed by all, especially Redport's guests of honor. Would her glittering hair and elegant attire disguise her age? She was young after all, just old enough to be selected.

"Do you think the Drengr might pick me?"

"The Drengr, dear? For a dance?"

She hesitated on the brink of a gamble. "No. I mean...do you think they will pick me as a volunteer?"

"Gods, child! I thought your father made his point clear." Even in the wake of asking, Tamara knew it was wrong. The tight grip upon her shoulders and the reddening of Lady Redwynn's cheeks was answer enough.

"I thought if I asked you—"

"You thought I might override his decision?"

She nodded. Volunteering with the fort was the surest way to become a Rider, and with the current Search, there would not come another for several years.

"My dear, foolish girl—"

"But I want to become a Rider! Father knows this, as do you!"

"Nonsense, Tamara. As soon as you bleed, you will do your duty to your house and marry."

Her breath caught in her chest. Her mind whirled uncontrollably, repeating the horrid statement. It takes but a few words to evaporate happiness. Fewer still to shatter dreams. In such moments, it was easy for desperation to grow the way weeds do, strangling hope and eating away all that might come from it.