Arah Abu 4
What a trial! We each had to sing three pieces, first for the Mistress of Singers (oh, gods how I hate her!) and then for the Bishops. Khariss’s father could not take part in the judging. I heard he made a fuss last night about not even being able to be in the nave while we sang from the quire, and the Sublime Pontiff had to step in.
Finally, we had to sing for the Sublime Pontiff himself! That’s how I know how close it is, and the two who are not chosen will certainly marry quite well. Unless I’m one of those two. I know the Prime Minister expects to marry me, but he is like 60 years old! I don’t care how handsome the ladies of the court say he is, that is ridiculous. Gross, even, but I don’t dare say that out loud. I’d rather run off and marry some foreigner. Khariss and I whispered about that a couple of nights ago. Her father will marry her off to whoever will fill his pockets with the most gold, or can guarantee him to be the next Sublime Pontiff. Her voice is the most beautiful I’ve ever heard and more than match her pretty looks. Why, I even heard the Mistress saying she has the most magical voice that’s been heard in the Cathedral in her lifetime, and that woman is old! She’s probably better marriage material than me. So that’s why we’d both rather run off. I’d settle for a handsome young man from Neitos—I just love their dark skin no matter what a scandal that’d cause in Ducor Geuy—but Khariss just wants a good man. That girl! Sometimes I think that, without me, she’d be the most boring girl on the planet.
That was only the opening two paragraphs. Eilina then spent six paragraphs on the ideal wedding dress followed by another eight on the perfect veil and train to choose before launching into a diatribe about the flaws of each of the bridesmaids in a recent wedding she’d attended the previous week.