Week 6

August 8

My husband’s mistress isn’t as pretty as I was expecting, and she is much much funnier. At least, she had everyone else at the party laughing.

She’s shorter than me, and wider, with tall hair and a big laugh. She smiles like she means it and her eyes glint with that same audacity that my husband’s do -- with even less of a charming effect on me, if that can be believed. Her eyes are clear and innocent, with no hint of guile when she looks at me. Courtesans at home used to be able to affect the same confidence.

She dresses modestly, if fashionably. She moves without artifice, lacking the intent to seduce. She is mildly amused flirtatious courtiers, but not taken in by them. She regards female of her rank and higher with respect, but with that constant amusement. She is kind to her servants, but doesn’t let them make the decisions.

She is the woman who would be queen, if it weren’t me. That said, I don’t hate her as much as I should. I don’t feel as guilty as I thought I might, either. I wonder, severely, if she would have been able to handle it.

August 9

My husband pays plenty of attention to his mistress, but he never seems to mean it. Perhaps they are different when they are alone together. When my husband is alone with me, he doesn’t smile or laugh as much as when we are around other people. Then again, we are not alone often enough to know if I should take that personally.

The other maids have been nicer to Adora since I slapped that one who was being rude to her. But it’s a false niceness, a I’m-only-being-nice-so-that-your-mistress-doesn’t-slap-me nice. It’s very obvious and very rude and classless. And Adora is as alone as ever, but she seems to mind even less now than she did before.

Some paranoid part of my mind thinks that this is because she knows my secret and is waiting for her opportunity to turn it to her advantage. Then the rest of me decides that if I’m to live my life in fear of that, I may as well give up the ghost of sanity and completely lose my mind.

Everyone needs to trust someone. I need to trust her. Even if she betrays me, trusting her now and being betrayed later is better than never knowing the comfort of trust. And she has never shown herself to be ambitious or cruel and I have no vibe or other reason to think that she is.

There are too many people who wish me dead for me to be able to survive, friendless.

August 10

Soo…I did it. Last night. I dressed up (or down) as a servant and went to a bar with Adora. She said I was her cousin. Someone (unknown, or would otherwise be missing a hand) pinched my butt.

Right now I’m hiding in my little room off of the library, letting the coolness of the floor tiles seep into my skin. There’s a draft coming from somewhere outside, I think. It feels cool, like the night breeze. There’s a chamber pot in one corner, and a blanket that Adora made me bring in case I got cold. I’m naked to the skin.

Last night I walked into a room and no one stopped what they were doing to watch me. No one shuddered at my glassy blue eyes (which I left here for the evening) or my piercing (which I also left at home) and no one trembled in fear at my approach. Adora’s friends (and she does have some, though it seems none that are in a position to stand up for her) were already partially drunk when we arrived. No one questioned her story, and nobody looked at me twice. 

I have been privy to Summer’s wholesomely overwhelming political friendliness. But these people were relaxed. They were kind because they could be and happy because they weren’t working. Even in Winter, I never experienced a camaraderie like that. In Winter, everyone is so much more formal, even a few sheets to the wind. The humor tends to have a sharp, biting edge, even in the most relaxed locations and the friendliest events. It’s just how Winterians are.

But here, I could have fallen asleep, the atmosphere was so relaxed. In Winter, even the smallest interaction is like the slap of a sharp breeze -- not harsh, just enough to keep you awake. Even before imbibing on some of Summer’s ale, I felt as though I were floating on a soft cloud of kindness.

And Adora was relaxed too. I think I even saw her smile once or twice, though she was reticent as ever to speak. She does have a lovely singing voice, though, as it turns out. Which is mighty surprising, seeing as she must have a rare chance to practice, considering I’ve never heard her sing before.

August 11

Knowing that Adora has friends fills me with an even stronger dread than I had before. See, before, she had no one to tell my secret to -- I mean, she did, but I didn’t know that. I wouldn’t worry about this in Winter. In Winter, everyone knows that no one is as tough as they pretend to be. My closest friends knew I was a cream puff. 

But it’s not just me, and my comfort. If Summer knows that Winter’s icy façade is just that, they won’t be too afraid to attack us. Adora, even if I could really consider her a friend, is a Summerian. Her first loyalty is to her own country. Probably my only saving grace here is that her country has treated her so badly. And that, because of my marriage, Summer and Winter are in a truce right now.

But if she had to choose -- I keep choosing not to kill her. Every day, I talk myself out of it. It doesn’t make me feel like a nice person, but this is what war makes you do. It makes you kill one person (or ten people) in order to save ten family members (or a hundred friends and family). 

The only problem is, the longer I stay here, the longer my list of Summerian allies grows. I would give my life for Adora or Todd or his family. And now I have my new friends that I met the other night. Not that I’d die for any of them, but the better I get to know them, the more protective I might feel.

If I were a more trusting person, I might believe that this was one reason for the marital alliance. But there has been no softening of Summerians toward Winterians, or vice versa. Except on my part, and I can’t show it.

August 12

I’m going home today, and although I’ll miss my hidden room next to the library (I’ve already cleaned everything out, chamber pot, etc.) I’ll be really glad to be away from my mother-in-law. Not that she’s a terrible person or anything. She’s like your typical Summer Magnolia -- vanilla on the outside, with an unbreakable spine. She’d fit right in in Winter, if she dropped the sweetheart bit. I like her, but she looks at me with that eagle eye. It’s similar to the way my husband looks at me, sans amusement and tolerance.

She’d get along with my mother, just fine. Speaking to her, I feel two things; one is that I don’t belong in her family. I’m an intruder, a misfit, tolerated, but not welcome. And secondly, I feel like she sees right through my icy exterior to my cream puff interior and there is no doubt in my mind that she knows that she could tear me apart with her bare hands, hell, with just a tinge more steel to her gaze.

It’s not an unpleasant feeling -- by this I mean, I’ve met people who would kill me as soon as look at me, and people who would kill me sooner than look at me. My mother-in-law wouldn’t kill me unless she absolutely have to. So, it’s not a really pleasant experience, looking into her eyes, but it’s not up there with the top ten worst experiences, either.

Anyway, Adora and I will be leaving our pub friends behind, but she’s promised to introduce me to some of her friends closer to home. I don’t know what is more disturbing; the fact that she has more friends, or the fact that she doesn’t take no for an answer when I say I’m not interested. She just acts like she doesn’t hear me. It’s not like she’s threatening me, or anything. It’s more like she doesn’t believe me.

So, here I am, lone standard to Winter iciness, and too many people seem to see right through me. It’s disconcerting and comforting at the same time.

August 13

There’s this Summer courting custom in which the male kisses the female’s hand. None of the courtiers have been courageous enough to try this on me. My fingernails resemble talons, so I can really say as I blame them. But my husband did it tonight, after dinner. He always walks me to my bedroom (presumably to make certain that I go to my bedroom, rather than wandering out to the courtyard to catch and kill bats or small children, or whatever) after the dinnertime entertainment is over.

And he did it. The full thing. He kept focused his melty chocolate eyes on my glass orbs and took my hand in his. Then, without breaking his gaze, he bent to kiss the back of my hand. I have to say, I think I did a pretty good job of remaining stoic, but I suddenly understand why this is such a knee-weakening tool in the courting male’s arsenal. 

Something about seeing my tiny (albeit pointy) fingers being captured in his large, masculine hand. Something about the subservient bend of his head, the seductive promise in his eyes…. That man could melt all the Winter right outta me. I’m sure I left a puddle of it in the hallway. 

August 14

My mother-in-law followed us home. I guess she missed the limelight of Queen-dom. I sat out on today’s hearings and she sat in. I should probably feel resentful or shoved aside or something, but since I’m so out of place here, already, it doesn’t really bother me. It’s not even a reminder, or a confirmation. It’s a continuation.

Adora took me out to a local pub tonight. More men who would be hands-less if I’d seen their faces, pinched various parts of what I would usually consider private anatomy. Everyone drank a lot, except for me, I just pretended. Adora sang. I practiced my Summer accent, which people seemed to appreciate more as the evening progressed and they got drunker.

Stanley has stopped beating Todd, who is now working as his father’s assistant in making my meals. I took them with us to my mother-in-law’s house, and the duo made quite the splash in a kitchen where their reputations spoke more quietly than their skill. I think I have a few new recipes in future dinners to anticipate, and I think Stan left some of his secrets behind.

It is shocking to see the difference a month can make in people’s lives. Stan stands tall, leaving behind his drunken slouch, and Todd has filled out. He’s obviously been sampling the food that he and his father have been making. The garden around their cottage has improved dramatically. Todd’s mother has taken over the landscaping there, and apparently has a knack. She stands taller, as well, and doesn’t shrink away from every shadow that moves in the bushes.

I know that if Stanley had been a determined bully, or if he had already given in to the despair of his unfulfillment, these changes wouldn’t have taken place. But it’s interesting to see the difference true passion can make in people’s lives. It gives me hope, though I’m not sure for what.