Page 3 of The Gilded Ones

Once they’re gone, Ionas turns to me and Elfriede. “You all right?” he asks, a worried expression on his face.

“Fine. A bit startled is all,” I manage to say.

“But not hurt.” His eyes are on me now, and it’s all I can do not to squirm under their sincerity.

“No.” I shake my head.

He nods. “My apologies for what just happened. Men can be animals, especially around girls as pretty as you.”

Girls as pretty as you…

The words are so heady, it takes me a few moments to realize he’s speaking again. “Where are you off to?” he asks.

“The baker,” Elfriede replies, since I’m still tongue-tied. She nods at the small, cosy building just across the street from us.

“I’ll watch you from here,” he says. “Make sure you’re safe.” Again his eyes remain on me.

My cheeks grow hotter.

“My thanks,” I say, hurrying over to the bakery as Elfriede giggles.

True to his words, Ionas continues staring at me the entire way.

The bakery is already packed, just as Elfriede said it would be. Women crowd every corner of the tiny store, their masks gleaming in the low light as they buy delicate pink purity cakes and sun-shaped infinity loaves to celebrate the occasion. Usually, masks are plain things, made out of the thinnest bits of wood or parchment and painted with prayer symbols for good luck. On feast days like this, however, women wear their most extravagant ones, the ones modelled after the sun, moon, and stars and adorned with geometric precision in gold or silver. Oyomo is not only the god of the sun but also the god of mathematics. Most women’s masks feature the divine symmetry to please His eye.

After today, I’ll begin wearing a mask as well, a sturdy white half mask made out of heavy parchment and thin slivers of wood that will cover my face from forehead to nose. It’s not much, but it’s the best Father could afford. Perhaps Ionas will ask to court me once I wear it.

I immediately dismiss the ridiculous thought.

No matter what I wear, I’ll never be as pretty as the other girls in the village, with their willowy figures, silken blonde hair, and pink cheeks. My own frame is much more sturdy, my skin a deep brown, and the only thing I have to my advantage is my soft black hair, which curls in clouds around my face.

Mother once told me that girls who look like me are considered pretty in the Southern provinces, but she’s the only one who’s ever thought that. All everyone else ever sees is how different I look from them. I’ll be lucky if I get a husband from one of the nearby villages, but I have to try. If anything should ever happen to Father, his relatives would find any reason they could to abandon me.

A cold sweat washes over me as I think of what would happen then: a life of enforced piety and backbreaking labour as a temple maiden or, worse, being forced into the pleasure houses of the Southern provinces.

Elfriede turns to me. “Did you see the way Ionas looked at you?” she whispers. “I thought he was going to whisk you away. So romantic.”

I pat my cheeks to cool them as a small smile tugs at my lips. “Don’t be silly, Elfriede. He was just being polite.”

“The way he was looking at you, it was—”

“What? What was it, Elfriede?” a mincing sweet voice interrupts, titters following in its wake.

My entire body goes cold. Please, not today…

I turn to find Agda standing behind us, a group of village girls accompanying her. I know immediately she must have seen me talking to Ionas, because her posture is brittle with rage. Agda may be the prettiest girl in the village, with her pale skin and white-blonde hair, but those delicate features hide a venomous heart and a spiteful nature.

“You think that just because you might be proven today, boys will suddenly start thinking you’re pretty?” she sniffs. “No matter how hard you wish otherwise, Deka, a mask will never be able to hide that ugly Southern skin of yours. I wonder what you’ll do when no man wants you in his house and you’re an ugly, desperate spinster without a husband or family.”

I clench my fists so hard, my fingernails dig into my flesh.

Don’t reply, don’t reply, don’t reply…

Agda flicks her eyes dismissively towards Elfriede. “That one, at least, can cover her face, but even if you cover your entire body, everyone knows what’s under—”

“Mind your tongue now, Agda,” a prim voice calls from the front of the store, cutting her off.

It belongs to Mistress Norlim, her mother. She walks over, the numerous gems on her golden mask glittering sharply enough to blind. Mistress Norlim is the wife of Elder Norlim, the richest man in the village. Unlike the other women, who can afford only gold half masks or full silvers, she wears a formal gold mask that covers her entire face, a sunburst pattern replicated around pale blue eyes. Her hands are also decorated, swirls of gold and semi-precious stones pasted onto the skin.

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