Red and White

In which two cities unite

I remember my mother.  A wishy-washy woman, lovely and kind-hearted.  Not that brainy, perhaps, but my father didn’t see the necessity for much cleverness in a wife.  Besides, in one so lovely and sweet as my mother, that’s irrelevant.

  She did like books--but not like I did.  She loved cheap novellas, the romances much favored by the ladies-in-waiting.  My father always told her not to let me near such “useless women’s books”, and she agreed, saying that they were not for me.  She fretted when I frustrated my tutors, saying I should trust their teachings, but my father called me clever.

  She loved spending time with me; I was her only daughter, after all, and if I wasn’t as sweet as she was, she told me that I looked much sweeter, and should show it off in silence.

  For a pretty woman, she was rather negligent of jewelry.  The only accessory she truly treasured was a red pendant on a golden chain--and it was mine.  My father had found the stone on a hunting trip when I was still in her womb.  She was enchanted by it, and had it framed by gold and hung on gold.  She said she could see it worn by a beautiful girl of red and white, a winter goddess.

  Sure enough I, a girl, was born in winter, and the necklace was laid around my neck on my first birthday.  My skin was fair and my lips were blushing, even then.  They wrapped me in green velvet, and ever after, I was most often dressed in green.  They said I looked like a sprig of holly in the snow: the green, the red, the white.

 

When I was thirteen years old, my mother died of a heart complication.  At least, that was the medical explanation.  Other people said it was because she was so sensitive and soft, and that her heart didn’t bear seeing the City fall.  Normally, I’d say that was nonsense, but since it was my mother being spoken of, I wasn’t so sure.

  The City was under my father’s command.  He was its lord, and within our walls, all was well, until trade weakened.  People became poorer and angrier, and criminals sprang to life where honest citizens once were.

  I was strong; I wasn’t like my mother, who was sweet and weak in her endearing way.  Despite losing her and seeing the City go to ruin, I reassured myself that I still had a good future ahead of me.  If things came to their worst, my father told me, I could pack up, take to the road, and continue my education at his sister’s house.  I liked this plan, though I was a bit daunted by my aunt’s reputation as a sorceress.

  “Her name is Silver,” he told me.

  “Isn’t my aunt called Bethany?”

  “No"people of her order take new names, and the silly woman wishes to be called Silver.”

  “So she is a witch,” said I, thirteen-year-old eyes growing round.

  “Of all things there are the good and the bad,” said my father heavily, “and my sister is a trusty one.  And didn’t I say that she is our last resort?  There are other solutions yet.”

 

“I told you, daughter,” he boomed one day, “there are other solutions!  We are saved.”

  “What?” I stood up, excited.  “What news do you have, Father?”

  “We are to be twins with a certain other city, not very far away.”

  “Which one?”

  “The Red City.”

  This was good news!  The Red City was prosperous.  It was miles away, but it was one of the nearest big cities.  I had been there as a little girl, and, indeed, it was always hung with red, and the roads and buildings were of rough red brick.  I had thought it pretty.

  “How have you forged this alliance?” I asked him.  Everything seemed to be going the right way again.

  “Well,” he said, ever more softly, “I am sorry for not having told you sooner.  But I excuse myself, in these times of doubt and emergency.”  He stood up straighter, and more formally.  “I am going to be married to the Lady of the Red City.”

  I paused.  “I don’t know what to say.”

  My father sighed.  “You are a wise little girl.  I also miss your mother, very much.  The Lady Ruby is intelligent, a leader, and is willing to be my lifelong companion ever after.  Such is the world of politics, daughter, but do not worry.  She will never be what your mother was to me.”

  I smiled.  “You’re right, Father.  And everything will be good from now on.  And…”

  “And what, clever girl?”

  “And you always know the right thing to say.”

  He laughed, heartened by my humor.  He left my study, and I fell again into a frown.  The Lady Ruby, was it?  A leader.  I was not used to having another willful woman in the house.

 

It was a forest green dress, lined with gold, that I chose to wear for the special meal.  I was to meet the Lady Ruby for the first time, and she me.

  My mother used to twirl her chestnut hair up when dressing.  She would pin it with bronze pins with rose-colored gems.  Her dresses were always pastel-colored, coral pink, beige, milky green or blue.  Her skin was always flushed (except in her last days).  Her beauty was gentle, and this was why she wished to have a starkly beautiful daughter: red, black and white.  Our features, though, were alike.  But because of our differences, we could never wear the same colors.

  When I entered the dining room, my eyes were on the floor, and the first thing I saw was the dark red hem of a beautiful dress.  It rustled as the woman in it turned in her seat to look at me.

  Her voice was smooth and cold.  “Little Alva,” she said, and smiled as she rose.  “I am Lady Ruby, your father’s bride-to-be.”

  “Lady Ruby,” I bowed.

  My father seemed happy about our meeting, and he ate cheerfully.  I, however, found it hard to dine normally, as I seemed ever under Lady Ruby’s scrutiny.  At length, my father noticed the silence and began the conversation.

  “My daughter has been to see your city, my Ruby, and she thought it fair then.”

  “You did?” she said, looking into my eyes.  “I am delighted.  When was this?”

  “When I was, maybe, seven years old.  I am thirteen, now,” I added.

  “Oh!  That was years ago, then.  It is far more beautiful now.”

  My father said, “That’s true, Alva.  She has lampposts studded with rubies, lining the streets.”

  “That’s wonderful!” I said, impressed.  “And no one steals them?”

  My father looked embarrassed, and the Lady laughed loudly.

  “I forgive you, little girl,” she said to me, “but there are no thieves in the Red City.”

  I paused.  “I am sorry.  I have gotten used to the state of affairs in this city, lately.  May I ask, Lady, if you were born in your city?  It seems marvelous that you are named Ruby, and everything about you is red, as well.”

  She laughed, but very coldly, this time.  My father said, “As I told you, very inquisitive, she is, my little girl!”

  “So she is!” she said to my father.  “You never thought to ask that question, yourself; but you do know that I was the founder of that city.”

  “You were luckily named, then,” I remarked.

  “Oh, am I?” she laughed.  I was starting to hate her laughter.  How could anyone laugh at the least amusing things?
  She looked at me as if she were about to share a playful secret with a small child.  “I was named Blair; but such a plain name it was.  Ruby suits me much better.  You are the lucky child, so suitably named; Alva, a white-skinned child.”  She smiled.

  “My mother wished for a fair-complexioned little girl, to name ‘Alva’; she got me,” I explained.

  “Yes; with such black hair, too, that couldn’t be found anywhere else,” she agreed.  “You could almost be my daughter, with locks like that!”  And she twirled a strand of her own coal-black hair around a fair finger.

  I shuddered, momentarily angry, but rallied on: “Hair like yours or mine is truly uncommon.”  I did not say ours.

  She leaned forward and touched my cheek across the table.  “And such a frighteningly pretty face, too!”

  I froze.  “Yours also, dear lady.  Frighteningly… pretty,” I added a bit late.

  My father said hastily, “I am fortunate to dine with such fair ladies tonight.”

  Such was our first supper together.  They did not get better with time.