The trip had been far from easy so far. One week at sea had felt like two on account of the near-constant turbulence. Waves had mercilessly lashed the sides of the vessel, swaying it this way and that. The Captain had grimly declared Poseidon's wrath on the third night, and offerings made to appease him. Ophelia had began her own private prayers on the second night. On the fifth, the storm had abated, but her stomach had not settled. 
She had kept to her chamber for the majority of the journey, emerging only for the evening prayers to the God of the Sea. All of her meals were brought to her, her handmaidens working day and night to see that she had every comfort. In the quiet of her chamber, they had speculated on what might have caused Poseidon's wrath, given that this was supposed to be a joyous event. Aoide had suggested that perhaps he felt ignored, or that his followers were not paying him due tribute, and was taking this opportunity to revenge himself. Thisbe had agreed, and Ophelia had seen no reason to counter them. Evanthe had not spoken before Thisbe, but had later confirmed that she too believed this theory, and together they had prayed. 

Now, she and her three handmaidens were on the relative safety of dry land, enclosed in a fine oakwood carriage that bore the crest of her host family. Above, the flags of Condos and Eliades billowed side by side in the sea-salted breeze. 

As they drew nearer to their destination, Ophelia bid her handmaidens to make her ready. Aoide slid from the bench opposite and onto the velvet cushion beside her, bringing with her a small chest. Quickly undoing her lady's simple travelling braid, she proceeded to weave Ophelia's silken tresses into the likeness of a rose, through which she artfully threaded golden ribbon to match her golden jewelry. 

The garment she had selected was of palest blue. embellished by her own hand at the neckline with silken roses. A belt of thin, braided golden fabric had been sewn to the waist to give the garment form and accentuate her feminine curves. The neckline was modest, but not prudish, exposing a sliver of the skin beneath her collarbone but no more than that. There were two skirts -- an underskirt of opaque blue silk and an open overskirt of flimsy, iridescent fabric laced with a subtle golden sheen. A rope of aur hung from her swan-like neck, matching the golden chandelier earrings that glistened each time they caught the sun's rays. 

Aoide reached into the case once more, producing a bottle of scent and lightly dabbing at Ophelia's throat with a cloth as soft as a cloud. Now she smelled like a rose as well as looked like one. 

As the carriage drew to a halt, Aoide closed the lid and slid back over to the opposite bench. Ophelia peered out of the window, eager for her first glimpse of her sister's marital home. Though Marisa had described the kalospiti in her letters, and Ophelia had attempted on many occasions to conjure its image in her mind, she knew that the reality would likely be much different from her musings, and she was right -- the sight that lay before her was as far from her speculations as night was from day.

When Ophelia had learned that two buildings had been merged into one to create the home of her in-laws, she had received the news in doubt that such a thing could ever be pleasing to the eye. She had refrained from sharing these feelings with Marisa, but it had been her secret dread that the Eliades' home would be a ghastly thing. However, it was far from unsightly. Stately was not the word she would use to describe it, but it did hold its own peculiar sort of grandeur. As she gazed upon it, a small smile crept across her face. She cat a relieved glance over at Evanthe, with whom she had shared her secret fears. 

It was at that moment that the carriage door opened. A slight chill caught her, but she made no complaint. Instead she nodded in thanks to the copper-skinned driver, who placed a set of silver steps before the vehicle and extended a hand to help the ladies alight. Her handmaidens preceded her, lowest ranked to highest. Aoide, being the youngest, was first to descend. Thisbe was the eldest, but a borrowed servant of her mother's. Her duties were mostly chaperonal, and so she went second. Being Ophelia's chief handmaiden, Evanthe was last. 

Eventually, it was Ophelia's turn to slip her cool, delicate hand through that of the aging driver and allow him to help her to the ground. The two guards her father had selected to accompany her awaited her there, bowing as soon their eyes lit upon her.  They had been stationed outside her door at all times during the sea voyage, and had followed the carriage closely in an open litter with her luggage, for they were more apt to fend off thieves. Fortunately, they had encountered no such individuals. 

"Lady Ophelia!" she turned at the sound of her name, her emerald eyes falling upon a servant of approximately twenty years. The female curtsied, offering a bright smile. "If you and your party would like to follow me, you will soon be received." 

Ophelia gave a nod, wondering who it was that would receive her. Despite having never set foot on Colchan soil, she had met her in-laws at the wedding, and at several events that had been hosted in Taengea. They all seemed rather amicable: she greatly admired Lady Felia's flare for fashion and lively conversation, Harith's great intellect and Ria's kindness. Her brother-in-law seemed to be a beacon of honour, all she could have ever wanted for Marisa. She had yet to meet their children, but she had high hopes for them. After all, with parents so well endowed in beauty and virtue, how could they fail to be the same?


The only Eliades that gave her cause for concern was Mikael. True, she knew little of him, but what she did know troubled her. Having had the displeasure of seeing him enebriated was not a thing she would soon forget. In sobriety he had been perfectly pleasant, but when the stench of alcohol had perfumed the air around him, he had become an almost entirely different man. She sincerely hoped that this would not happen again, for she did not wish to quarrel with her hosts. She wanted to like them, but there had been something ominous in that interaction between them at Marisa's wedding. Whether or not he remembered, she could not say. Most, after all, recalled little once the drunken haze had cleared, or so she had heard. Oh, she had heard much worse from other men, and he had not threatened her, but something in his tone had set her on edge. Perhaps it was merely that she was unaccustomed to seeing a man so intoxicated. After all, having come from a family of wine merchants, her typical associates knew how to hold their liquor. 

She watched as her guards were led away to the servants' quarters, leaving only herself and her three handmaidens in the hallway to await whoever might be coming. She smoothed the skirt of her gown, straightened her posture, and took a deep breath.